What Teachers Make

I'm a student of MA Education on a leave of absence. Part of me wants to go back to school, a small part of me got tired of having to work and study at the same time. I have about 12 units left before I start working on my practicum paper and finally graduate with a Master's Degree. Then I can take the LET, move out of the corporate world and into the academe, and finally fulfill my dream of becoming a teacher.

Not that what I currently do is a lot different. I teach, train and help prepare people for what they need to do later on—corporate-style. And sometimes it gets tiring. Very tiring.

I stumbled upon this piece that I discovered a couple of years ago. It's written by Taylor Mali, a former teacher who performs poetry slams/def poetry across the US. The piece I'm about to share is something that I used to read when I wanted to give up on writing a term paper for one of my MA classes or when I just get tired of teaching and training. It reminds me of why I do what I do, and why I still do it.

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn

from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"

He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about

teachers: Those who can, do; and those who can't, teach.

I decide to bit my tongue instead of his

and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests

that it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor," he says.

"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that

(asked me to be honest)

because, you see, I have a policy

about honesty and ass-kicking:

if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.

I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor

and an A- feel like a slap on the face.

How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall

in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.

No, you may not ask a question.

Why won't I let you get a drink of water?

Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:

I hope I haven't called at a bad time,

I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.

Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"

And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are

and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,

I make them question.

I make them criticize.

I make them apologize and mean it.

I make them write, write, write.

And then I make them read.

I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful

over and over again until they will never misspell

either one of those words again.

I make them show all their work in math.

And hide it on their final drafts in English.

I make them understand that if you got this (brains)

then you follow this (heart) and if someone tries to judge you

by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break if down for you, so you know what I say is true:

I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

What Teachers Make, or

Objection Overruled, or

If Things Don't Work Out, You Can Always Go To Law School

Taylor Mali

I feel wonderful having read this after a very long time. Let me now get ready for work. BRING ON THE CLASSES.

Sleep working

I posted this in my old blog, Belligerent Bliss, almost six years ago. So much has changed since then.

It's three a.m. and I am walking down Ayala Avenue. It had rained hard earlier (like it had been since... forever) and I am careful not to get the hem of my pants wet. It's quite unbelievable really, the way my work has evolved into something that rivals industries with graveyard shifts. And I'm not even sleepy. 

My stomach grumbles, reminding me that it's been hours since I last ate (though it definitely does not look it). I want tapa or any other oily, MSGd thing that goes well with fried egg but the odds of finding such a meal given the hour and location does not look good. But after passing BOC, I notice that the Jollibee there is still open. I realize that both it and the McDonald's in Banker's Square are open 24 hours. My feet steer me inside. The slightly bored counterperson informs me that I was in luck - they were already serving their breakfast meals! Rice and cooking oil before dawn breaks! What joy! Thank the heavens for the thriving call center industry in this city. 

I take in the atmosphere inside the resto. Groups of people, probably down for a break from their call quotas, huddle together, sipping coffee and being as loud as possible. Outside, a small circle of people are smoking and littering the sidewalk with their hundred or so cigarette butts. They are trying to treat this hour like that of a normal shift, trying to reorient their body clocks as best they could with overreactions and tar. 

This blasphemous hour interests me. Whenever I take the jeepney home, I take note of the people around me, largely for security (need I flaunt my phone-losing record once more?) but also out of curiosity. I try to create storylines and collegiala dialogue based from their expressions and their non-verbal cues. (You can not not communicate people. Communicologists rule!) I see tired and sleepy guys, probably just ending their shift as a guard or a construction worker, hugging their worn backpacks. ("Manila is the answer to all my problems. I would rather be here with my fifteen children, living in a shanty than go home and suffer a provincial life. How droll would that be?") I see women lugging huge plastic containers filled with ice and fish from the fish market in coastal. ("This frickin' stink does not come off. Ever. And that bi-atch just ripped me out of five bucks. Again.") I see people with suspicious looks on their faces, as if they have just committed something that their spouses would make them regret later on. ("Let's see, which excuse have I not used before? 'Honey, I was ambushed by a gang of munchkins who insisted that I give them my salary and drink fifteen bottles of beer. Oh, and one of the munchkins wanted to test the shade of his lipstick on my neck. Munchkins are weird.' Yeah, that's sounds about right.")

I have always said that I can never take working, thinking properly at this hour. Yet, here I am, somehow functioning at a mechanical pace with the rest of the nightcrawlers. ("I am 30 pounds overweight na and I treat my house as if it is a hotel. My parents keep on giving me sad, hurt eyes, which distinctly screech, 'WE DON'T KNOW YOU ANYMORE'!")

The cholesterol hits my bloodstream and mates with the five cups or so of pure caffeine I had inhaled that day. I am filled with euphoria and a diligence to proofread the preamble to the Philippine Constitution. 

It's three a.m. and I feel lost. But alive.

Soul sisters

I discovered Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo by Ntozake Shange by complete coincidence in 2007. I have never been a book snob, often trying out books based on titles that catch my eye. This was one of them, a novel I enjoyed so much I had to do a review for Preview Prefers. Here it is, printed as published:

It begins at Christmas.

Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo carom around the house, partaking in a family tradition that brims with the tenderness and intimacy that only their Mama can provide. Pages fly with passages on love, recipes, herbal remedies and dreams.

At the hub of which is Indigo, the youngest, whose passion and curiosity drives the novel ever forward.

All in all, it is the story of three sisters coming into their own in a world that is, all too often, far too real. Each with their own gift to share and moved by the everyday magic that surrounds their lives. Shange creates a book that is as vivid as Sassafrass' tapestries, as fluid as Cypress' dancing body and as lyrical as Indigo's rebellious violin.

The speech of her prose reads like poetry, both a spiritual journey and an almost voyeuristic peek into the heart of the characters she created.

Winging it

As trainers, we're on our feet and move around the training room for at least five hours a day. That, coupled with a measly 30 minutes for a lunch break, leaves us tired and famished, so we're always on the lookout for a place to eat at the end of our shift.

Bon Chon Chicken has always been one of our go-to places ever since it opened its first Philippine franchise in the Ayala Triangle in late 2010. A five- to 10-minute walk (depending on which route you take) from the Insular life building, it's located along the strip of restaurants in the Ayala Triangle, behind the Makati Stock Exchange building.

The facade of Bon Chon Chicken in Ayala Triangle.

Because I've been avoiding rice lately, I usually get the small order of the chicken wings. You get six pieces of chicken wings in a small order, which is essentially three wings. You can also get drumsticks or chicken chops (chicken fillet), if you're not fond of the wing part, or even a combination of drumsticks and wings. I also like ordering their kimchi coleslaw to accompany the chicken.

Diners can choose from two variants of the chicken: soy garlic or hot & spicy. I've tried both flavors, and I must say that both are excellent. The hot and spicy chicken is something I wouldn't recommend to people who have a low tolerance for spicy food. A friend of mine and I have a very high tolerance for spicy food and love drowning our food in pepper or hot sauce, but we gave up after eating a few wings. The spiciness of the chicken punches you in the mouth, and you're left with a tingly feeling even after your meal. If you love spicy food, I recommend asking the server to make your order half soy garlic and half hot & spicy. That way, you get to get your fill of chili, but without having to down a glass of soda after each piece.

On the day the pictures were taken, though, my friends a I decided to split a large order of wings. For 720 Pesos, we got 24 pieces of chicken! We asked the server to give us 18 pieces of soy garlic chicken and six hot & spicy wings. I had my usual order of kimchi coleslaw, and my colleagues followed suit.

Our crazy order—24 pieces of chicken wings (for three people) + kimchi coleslaw

The moment you bite into the chicken, you get a feeling of satisfaction from the crunchiness of the skin. The flavor is intense, from the skin to the meat, and the meat is perfectly cooked, very juicy and flavorful. I like the flavor because it's not too salty and you can taste the garlic, but the flavor's not too strong that you'll get tired of it after a couple of pieces. The kimchi coleslaw is the perfect partner; it has the refreshing taste of homemade coleslaw with a slight kick of spice. It's perfect for those who want a hint of spice in their food. Because the chicken is cooked perfectly, with just the right amount of flavor, you can't just stop after one piece.

Oh, the carnage. On a positive note: these chickens did not die in vain.

Non-meat eaters can also tag along with their carnivorous friends because Bon Chon now has seafood dishes! They've recently launched three new dishes: Fish tacos, shrimp rice box and fish rice box. The fish and the shrimp are cooked with the same coating they use for the chicken, so pescetarians (like Jacs!) can enjoy the flavor of Bon Chon with their meat-eating friends and family.

It'll probably be a long time before I get tired of Bon Chon Chicken. It's the perfect comfort food after the end of a tiring day, and it doesn't put a big hole in my pocket, too!

Bon Chon Chicken has two branches: One in Ayala Triangle, and another in Greenbelt 1, both in Makati City. Two branches are opening soon: One on Libis and one in SM Megamall A.

Pantry Cheffing: Sunshiney Sundried Tomato Pesto with Sardines

I am not a trained chef. I am actually a slightly picky eater. But I do 1. truly enjoy the food that I do eat and 2. love to experiment on flavor profiles. The combination of both factors have led to many a day in the kitchen, playing Pantry Chef.


It's fun to find a recipe then tweak it. It's even more fun to find out that the resulting dish is incredibly yum. Below is my take on the usual sundried tomato pesto. Nothing fancy, nothing incredibly edgy but definitely full of flavor. This is a rare entry in that I usually do not measure out my ingredients when I am cooking, relying more on taste and smell that actual math. Oh, the joys of not baking—where measurements matter. But, I digress. On to the food.


If you dont have the time to make your own pesto, you can always get the pre-made ones from the local grocery stores. I like the brand Bravo, P220 for a bottle. Really yummy.


Ingredients:
- For Sundried Tomato Pesto


250gm sundried tomatoes
toasted pinenuts
2 cloves garlic (crushed)
2/3 cup shaved parmessan
150 mls olive oil
chopped basil
chopped parsley
salt to taste
pepper to taste










- One box All Purpose Cream
- 5 fillets spicy sardines, filleted and shredded *
* Alternatively you can use shredded anchovies, tuna or chicken breast


Directions:
For Sundried Tomato Pesto place all the ingredients except the olive oil into a food processor and blend to a course consistency. Gradually add your olive oil and blend to a smoother paste.


With a wire whisk, slowly add the all purpose cream and shredded sardines no longer lumpy. Keep adding cream to desired texture. Personally I like it a bit lumpy.


Spread on thin bread with some shaved pepper jack then toast, or use as a dip for chips. Or thin it out and use as a pasta sauce.


Serve to friends and family members with a smile :)

Girl talk

Once upon a time, there were three little girls who went to Quiz Night. They all have hazardous jobs that deal with words and people who don't use them properly. (Being trivia regulars, the three also tend to being insufferable know-it-alls.)

One is a senior communications trainer for one of the top outsourcing companies in the country. A proud grammarian who loves to regale friends with anecdotes involving her trainees ("This is a pud! It is eat by a manki!"), she is a foodie who spends time trying to discover gastronomic haunts all over the metro, cajoling her younger-bigger brother into some form of consciousness and directly into driver-servitude. 

Another is a content manager for the interactive website of a major network, who loves to go surfing on long weekends, loves geeky statement shirts, loves making the celebrities she works with endorse random messages and loves bacon, which she wraps around chicken and breaks out in parties along with her knee-highs and fishnet (only during Halloween).

And the third, to which the term 'girl' is used very, very loosely, is an editor for a lifestyle magazine. He/she is a pescetarian whose life revolves around work, church, tennis, quiz, volleyball and future rulership, though not necessarily in that order. When asked what this blog would be about, he/she, in a hilarious drunken stupor, simply answered, "Ohhh... gay things." (Impressively succinct given the intoxication, don't you think?)

To further explain: this blog is about things that land on our laps, bump into (because of work or interest) catch our eyes out and about town, on the web and around the world (we've ran out of clichés). We think you'll like them, and not just because we're insufferable know-it-alls. 

Well, that's a big part of it, but we also believe what we have to say would be truly interesting to a lot of people out there, whether they would like to admit to or not. Don't worry we won't judge you, your sexuality or your sanity. We are progressive like that. (Okay fine. We might, but we will be completely discreet about it.)

So, goh, follow and read and all that. We know you really, really want to.