a feis! the third episode

Today was my third feis (Irish dance competition, for those of you who don't know they ways of the Irish). And like always, it was nerve-racking, emotionally trying, scary, somewhat painful (hi shin splints!), and exhausting. Oh, and did I mention really really fun?

Every feis I've been to is the same (can I say "every" if I've only been to 3?); there's a ton of excitement and build-up beforehand and I can't wait. And then the day of the feis arrives, and I start to wonder why I thought a dance competition was a good idea. And then I get there and watch the other dancers and I KNOW it wasn't a good idea. Suddenly everyone looks better than me. Their toes are more pointed, their legs more crossed, and their steps more precise. How I can I possibly compete with such perfection?!

When it's finally time for me to hop on the stage and dance, I'm pumping full of adrenaline, my legs are shaking, and I'm desperately trying to remember my steps. The first dance is terrifying and usually includes at least 1 sketchy moment. After that, my nerves come and go in waves. For a few moments, I don't care how I do, then I'm mortified that I messed up, then I start panicking about the next dance. And then I remember that more than anything else, Irish dance is fun. I dance because I love it. Sure, getting medals and advancing is nice, but if it isn't fun, why do it?

And once I remember that, everything is better. The nerves are still there, of course (I hope the judge didn't notice the trembling in my calves), but I no longer have the desire to sit in a heap and cry (it's funny how such spectrum of emotions can do that to you). Medals don't matter- having fun does.

But incidentally, I did quite well. I medalled in 5 of my 6 dances and only really messed up once. Hurrah! Next feis: June 2010.

a Jonah day

I woke up today in a remarkably pleasant mood; I believe I may have even bounded out of bed. But something happened once I hit school. I had to deal with some remarkably dense students (no matter how many times I tell them things, they never seem to get it...until suddenly they do, regardless of what I've just said). I blushed furiously several times in my German class (which actually caused me to forget what I was saying rather than the other way around). Then I lost patience with my dim-witted students who then told me I was weird today, that I was talking too fast, and that my hair looked weird (which it did. But was it really necessary to say so completely unsolicited?). Did I then proceed to blush? Yes, of course I did. And then half of my class failed a test that I had been pretty sure they were prepared for. My fault or theirs? I'm hoping theirs, but guilt says it's all me. And now I'm sitting at home thinking about the Russian I should be studying so I don't look like a fool again during Russian class tomorrow. Blech.

personality-free zone

I found my answer. According to Hartman's The Color Code, I don't have a personality. Or rather, I'm deceiving myself to the point where my personality has become mush. You see, I took his little no-fail personality test several times, and each time my results were muddled. The first time (taking it alone, with no assistance) I was 15 Blue, 14 Yellow, 13 Red, and 3 White. The next time (with T-rav's advice), I was 14 Blue, 14 Red, 14 Yellow. The third time I took it alone (again) and promised to be extra honest with myself. The results: 13 Blue, 15 Red, 14 Yellow. Finally, I took it with my friend Lindsey and had the same results as with T-rav. Now, if you haven't read this book, you may be wondering what the big deal is. It's this: Hartman claims that everyone is born with an innate personality, one that will always be dominant throughout your entire life. No matter what. And if you take his test and don't have a dominant color, you're lying to yourself. Or you're confused. Or conflicted. Either way, you have a problem.

I felt kind of lost for a few days. Maybe I really had lost my personality! Maybe that explained why I have often felt torn in certain social situations (should I sit by the wall and observe, trying not to talk to anyone, or jump into the fray and perform an Irish jig? Should I boss people around and start giving orders or just do it myself?). Maybe Hartman was right! Maybe I really didn't know myself anymore.

But after a few days of thinking and reading, I decided Hartman's theory is a load of bull. How can you claim that a personality will remain the same (deep down) throughout a person's life? Can't people mature and change? And why do we have to have just 1 dominant personality? What's wrong with having 3 equal parts (aside from occasionally being confused).

So I've found my personality again. I'm bossy when I need to be, constantly loyal to my friends, and spontaneous and care free when I can be. I worry too much, can't stick to 1 thing for a long time, and tend to know everything (really, I do). Sometimes I find the three parts (as described by Hartman) to be divisive (as mentioned above), but I think it makes me stronger. I can adapt to different situations more easily than if I had just 1 dominant side of the spectrum.

So Hartman can take his prescriptive theories and stick 'em where the sun don't shine. I enjoy being able to analyze how and why people interact they way they do, but don't try to tell me there's 1 answer for everyone. My redness refuses to be told how to think.

Here's a short article about the Pashtun men in Afghanistan...and their confused sexuality. VERY interesting.

the high-fivers

I'm sure you know one or two. They're the high-fivers. The people who can't resist giving you a high five when you or they walk into the room. Have you done anything note-worthy lately? Probably not. But to the high-fivers, it doesn't matter. They give you a high-five just for being alive.

And I HATE it.* I don't understand why these people have to make physical contact in the first place. What's wrong with a polite wave? Or a head nod? I didn't do anything cool, so don't high five me! Please.

*Sporting teams are exempt from this loathing. As are people who have just done something really great. Like kicked someone in the head.

white guilt

I'd like to tell you three stories.

One- Yesterday I watched a movie called Something New, loaned to me by one of my fellow teachers. It's about an African American woman from very high society who dares to go against the expectations of her family and friends and date a white man. Her brother accuses her of "going over to the enemy" and her friends suspect the white guy of having ulterior motives.

One and a half- The teacher who gave me Something New is quite convinced that African (not African American, just African) students at UVU are shocked when they arrive here. Many of them come from well educated, upper class families, but at UVU, they are treated as any other student, not better or worse. They aren't accustomed to being the obvious minority and people not recognizing their higher social status.

Three- The more I'm around my ESL students, the more I think that as a whole, non-Americans are incredibly racist. Remember the drama with the Saudi and the Dominican last week? That isn't the first time something like this (though never quite that extreme) has happened in my classes. One of my Mexican students made shooting noises and motions at a Kuwaiti student. The Koreans don't want to work with the "Mexicans." One Peruvian refused to work with the Koreans. I routinely have students switch in or out of my classes because there aren't enough people from their home country in the class.

Three- within a few weeks of arriving in the United States, many of the refugees (in this example mostly Iraqi or Nepali) already identify the Hispanics as the bottom of the social ladder. Even though they come to the US with nothing, don't have a job yet, and may not even speak English, they put themselves higher on the social scale than their "Mexican" neighbors.

So maybe some white Americans are racist. But I think most of the racism these days comes in the form of "reverse" racism from the minorities in our country. Just listen to black talk radio in Memphis, for example. Or ask black people in the south why they voted for Obama (I've done it- a lot of them don't have a real reason other than his skin color).

What I'm getting at is racism is stupid. And I feel like I've been trained to be guilty about it my whole life. I can't help that I'm white. I usually wish I had darker skin and hair so that I could fit in better abroad. Being white makes you a target when traveling (because as we know, all white people are rich) and can be a serious disadvantage when applying for jobs or school (good thing I'm a girl). I don't deny that there may still be racial problems in the US. But it's a whole lot better here than anywhere else in the world, don't you think?

Somewhere along my journeys in the past dozen months or so, I lost my personality. Have you seen it? I know it used to be optimistic and worry-free, less spiteful and more spontaneous. And it used to know where it belonged. But I think it might be floating down some highway of dreams that haven't happened yet. If you see it, will you please send it my way? I'd like to see myself like I remember.*

*For my book club, I've been reading The Color Code, and these are the conclusions I've come to. Once I finish it, maybe I'll know who I am again. I hope...

il hamdu-lillah

He's alive!
The tall dark Haitian who obviously isn't Asian.

not knowing

Hearing bad news is hard. Terrible. Sometimes inexpressibly so. But not knowing what will happen, what did happen, waiting for the good or the bad news and desperately hoping for the good, I think that might be worse. And being helpless to do anything just adds to the frustration.

Hang in there, friends.

welcome to a new semester

On my first day of writing 2 class, I was delighted to find a wide spectrum of cultures represented (ie, a couple of Koreans rather than a dozen, a Russian, some Brazilians, a Japanese, Hispanics from various locales, and a Saudi). Having a diverse class makes things more interesting for me and makes English a lot easier to acquire (mostly because they're forced to speak it. I'll never understand students who come to the US and then refuse to ever speak English).

This morning I had a student from the Dominican Republic show up. He seemed fairly competent in English and chatted with me a bit during down times in class. And just when I was starting to possibly like him a little bit, he started making little jabs at the Saudi student. Something along the lines of "you're from Saudi Arabia? You know what that means?" or "don't you look like someone I've seen before...aren't you related to someone on the news..."

Luckily the Saudi was no pushover. At first he ignored the comments (they were sitting on opposite sides of the room), but then he politely defended himself "Hey, I like my country. Leave it alone."

But by the end of class, little Dominican student was getting rather irrtating. And finally, during their group discussions, Dominican accused Saudi of being Osama bin Laden's cousin (because naturally, all Saudis are related to Osama. And are all terrorists) and therefore a terrorist. At which point chaos ensued. I started shouting at the Dominican to stop saying such inappropriate things while he tried to defend himself, Saudi's friends started shouting at the Dominican, and I frantically tried to draw attention away from the Saudi who had turned slightly red, stood up and mumbled something about needing to go meet a friend, and walked out of class. It was a mess.

Class finished shortly thereafter. Domincan fled, and I ran out to find Saudi. Not surprisingly, there was no friend waiting to meet him; he confessed that since he didn't want to start a brawl in the middle of my classroom, he thought he should remove himself. Which was appreciated. I confessed that I would have punched Dominican in the face. We bonded, I promised I was on his side and would try to control the Dominican. The Dominican was nowhere to be found for a well deserved lecture.

And all on the second day of class.