Pain less

I wonder, from time to time, whether writing all this is cathartic for me. It does help a little bit for me to write all these thoughts and feelings. But to what end? Have I any audience? Is my writing without aim? I need to know...I need to know that my words will come of some use and purpose other than offering my heart temporary respite. I come here everyday, with continuing weakened spirits. What's difficult in this place is that I am surrounded with depressed people, who are trying their best to maintain uplifted mindsets. In some sense we offer each other support, but in another regard, we so easily reveal our weaknesses to one another in our weakened states. It's difficult to be strong in such a place and in such circumstances. I miss my colleagues at work at various points each day. I don't miss the heavy loud bell that rings with demonic tone to deafen even the most well-intentioned of teacher. Somehow, there is a reverent atmosphere here. I cannot say that I prefer the bell over the calm that is here, however I can say that the conditions under which I am led to have this calm do trouble me so. At what price is peace worth? To what end must pain be tolerated? I did not know what it was like for a friend of mine who had to go to the Reassignment Center, until now. And now I can say I truly understand why they were in pain, even though they were removed from that place which was also causing them pain to begin with. How, then, can pain be avoided? It seems that one pain is merely replaced with another. Is there escape? I wonder.

Redemption Song

With my response in Ms. Papaliberios' hand, I suspect that she is deliberating my pending future with the department of education. I can only hope that she makes the correct decision and that I am prepared to receive it. Today there are odd happenings in the Reassignment Center. New people come in and former ones just don't seem to leave. I wonder how this all started. How many were there in the beginning? How long will the number serving sentences here continue to increase? I can recall the time I spent in the school's in-house principal's suspension room for the students, where I had to report for duty for one period a day, ad did other teachers for other periods of the day in that room. The students were disillusioned, often confused and angry - at why they were there and also for how it was they were sent to be there. Their spirits were crushed. Similarly, there are many teachers here who are disillusioned with the proceedings that led them to be here. They are certainly confused and angry here. I, too, find myself oscillating between being confused and angry. On other days, I am sad. We are all sad. We don't understand why so many of us are here. Is it only a bureaucracy? How can such wrongness take place? The thing I couldn't imagine before I now experience myself; I didn't know how the minds of the students in the in-house suspension room were handling their predicament. Now I am experiencing what they must surely experience; feeling completely unheard and misunderstood, and so terribly lonely - especially amidst the company of peers.

Judgment Day

Tomorrow Ms. Elena Papaliberios will review my case and decide whether I ought to be terminated or not. I've tried to meet with her but I haven't been granted an audience yet. I don't know how she'll weigh the circumstances. I know that she is well-acquainted with my boss and that such a background will surely influence her decision They most likely have a relationship of trust already built and established, and any attempt on my part to gain her sympathies will likely fall upon deaf ears. How can I convince her that a man she thinks she knows professionally is not as noble or trustworthy as he may present himself? What can I say to her? That he lies? What form will my rebuttal take? Should I defend myself? Explain myself? Excuse myself? I felt just as helpless and ridiculous in the emergency room trying to tell the doctors what was happening to me when I barely understood it myself. It's difficult for me to talk about this kind of thing, to injure myself further by seeing it unresolved but having it reappear and then trying to have to make it go away. I just wanted my pain in the emergency room to go away and never return, and likewise I want the misery from this case to go away and never return. Perhaps I should have faith in Ms. Papaliberios and share these words with her, and write her a letter explaining my feelings and condition.

New Contact

I spoke with the UFT representative that is assigned to my case today when they finally telephoned me. I have difficulty in not feeling foolish when I share the details of my case. Quite frankly, it is embarrassing. I wonder what will happen if I just disappear? What if I went away and never came back? maybe then I wouldn't be missed? Then they wouldn't have to get rid of me, I'll already be gone. I wonder where I can go to escape and find appreciation, or at least pleasant treatment. Maybe I can't go anywhere? Maybe I just have to be by myself? I'm trying to find inspiration within and without myself. Again, I am pondering whether this is something that I should fight, that is worth fighting, or whether I ought to just concede and admit defeat, take my losses and move on. Surely this universal principle of a life-battle is one that we all must face at various points in our lives. I'm reminded of how I am erasing my experience in the emergency room because of how horrible it was to be there. I feared dearly for my life and I would have traded away anything to have that pain stopped. Perhaps I must now consider whether this is what the universe has in store for me, to have me surrender my job and go elsewhere to do something else, which I may not have otherwise chosen to do of my own volition. Is this a test? Is life a test? Or is this a consequence of choices which dictate how we live our lives? I'm also reminded of a couple I know, who have three autistic children, the third of whom they had to give away for adoption. Did they choose that?

Unanswered

I continue to deliberate with myself as to why I am here, what role my own actions played in the situation, and how I could and should react. I am simultaneously reminded of how privileged I am to be here rather than at war, for example, and yet also feel tormented in having to be here. I feel ashamed that I am not stronger to withstand being cast here as the others seem to be able to do, though I do have gratitude that I am not in more dire circumstances. I'm trying to learn as much as I can from this experience; professionally, personally, philosophically, in terms of my relationship with myself and with others. What I cannot understand the most is how my boss has the wherewithal to judge that my probation be discontinued and that my employment be terminated. If he doesn't like me then he can simply have me removed and I will gladly go teach for somebody else at another school. Of course I will miss my students and colleagues, but I am already missing them by having my teaching license denied. At least with a school transfer, a second opinion can be given and somebody else can also determine what my worth is as a teacher. I am appalled at the mistreatment I am shown, given my diligence in the years of service. All the charges that are being made against me are only from very recently - if at all substantiated, not considering my previous years of good service. I suppose they don't care what I've contributed to the school, the students, or the staff. If an alleged mistake is made, there seems to be no restitution provided.

Missed Connections

I had to pick up a friend from the airport yesterday, but they weren't there and the flight was late, and their phone directed me straight to voicemail. Later he telephoned to tell me that he missed his flight because he was arrested on the flight before it left, and was removed from the plane at the airport and thrown in jail.

As I understand it, he was sleepy on the overnight flight. Once seated in the emergency-exit row which he booked to accommodate his 6'6" 250 lbs size as he always does, the flight attendant was presenting the pre-flight safety instructions and the woman next to my friend protested, "this person's not fit to sit here!" and with that a flight attendant asked him to change his seat, and my confused friend uttered, "no," and then was told that the police would be called to which he mumbled, "okay," in a daze. Then all of a sudden the police arrived and shot him with a tazer-gun, which he quickly yanked out of his abdomen. But then he was handcuffed and sat in a jail overnight, not allowed to sleep because they had to check his blood pressure and hear rate every hour until morning, when he was finally allowed to collapse from exhaustion, on the cement floor. He also missed his connecting flight in NYC to Spain that same day, to go perform in a band where he plays guitar and sings. he had to buy new plane tickets, take care of his arrest proceedings, and still he was not persistently angry, although he wanted to be and easily could have been. He didn't want to be consumed by it and for that I admire, respect and honor him. I will learn by his example and likewise maintain a calm composure.

I Rate Irate

Have I mentioned how people here are irritable? Today Tim is extremely frustrated because his cell-phone service provider will not reimburse or compensate him for some extraneous or erroneous charges. What he expressed to be especially frustrating is the greatly insensitive nature of the customer service representative. The representative didn't seem to care about the problem, and having such sympathy could have alleviated a lot of the tension. Even if the problem wasn't resolved, at least some decency could have been shared. This makes me wonder the intelligence behind having customer service representatives who have very little interaction with their customers otherwise. At the same time, the customers have no idea of the representatives' condition, and the representatives have the difficult task of withholding all of their own private frustrations and not consider the customers' outrage as personal attacks. It would be much nicer if places of employment conducted de-stressing workshops for their employees. Perhaps Korea is on the right track after all, considering they periodically have workers take breaks to stretch during group-led sessions.

It seems to me that there is similar relationship in teaching, as that of customer service representatives and customers. The teachers interact with students on such an extended period of time, yet have very little insight into their background. There is barely any other interaction that is so extreme in its ratio. The bus driver doesn't need to have bus-management, yet teachers have to have classroom management. And what of supervisors? Do they have to have staff-management? Rather what I see happening to me here is staff-expulsion. If a bus passenger is unruly, they will be removed from the bus. If a student is unruly, the teacher is removed from having a job.

Terrible Tuesdays

I seem to be unfair and impatient with my colleagues here. To tell the truth, I am very grateful to the occupants of the room in which I sit because they welcomed me here fairly cordially. They're also decent folks considering how long they've been here. They're pretty quite folks and alternate between keeping to themselves and briefly interacting with one another, sharing stories and jokes. Nobody seems to lean to any extremes. I hope that I exude similar qualities as I site here amongst them. Slowly I feel that I am a part of the group. I suppose I can't argue against the brand of people that sit here in this room. I rate them of a higher caliber than it seems some others who come in to chat, or who walk by outside screaming and shouting.

I wonder why people aren't more honest with themselves and one another, and why stronger relationships of trust are not fostered. At work there is so much falseness and ingenuity that nobody will even discuss the full nature of the hostility present there. There is fear of the boss and supervisors and retribution. The boss and supervisors do not truly show respect to the staff and colleagues, although they do utter brief thanks and gratitude, it is only a show of words, with no expression of sincerity. I can only imagine the assumed power that is hoarded when one feels the feared obedience of those subservient. And likewise the disgust and nervousness at any revolt or resistance to oppression, which is the only path I can take as I cannot comply with such violation.

Monday Bloody Monday

After the weekend the beginning of the week is difficult. The pains of being here have momentarily subsided, until later when it returns. Then the adjustment to torment carries on. Staring at these same walls is discomforting. I look forward to some change. I am beginning to understand why some of the folks in here grow restless and wander from room to room. I was speaking with a friend of mine over the weekend who is also a teacher, and we both agreed that a large number of the teachers who are our colleagues are not professional people, and would not be hired in the private or corporate sectors.

Certainly there are lower standards here, hence the existence of such an entity as this reassignment center. I think of my own rule here. Perhaps I too was unprofessional and need to reclaim some dignity and respect for myself from myself. I should raise my own standards beyond what I've been demonstrating. I seem to have become unaware of the change or shift within me. I don't know whether it's because my environment doesn't require it or appreciate it, but it certainly accepts alternatives to higher standards. I can't think of too many other industries of work where people are collected together so haphazardly to work. Perhaps such is the child of necessity; compromise? Teachers are needed, and a compromise is made as to those who are hired.

Another weak [sic]

The end of another week. There's a microwave here that people use. I hear arguments over who is next, and shouts of why people can't wait. I didn't understand all the disagreements over using a machine that is detrimental to our health. Ever since I stopped using the microwave to heat and cook food and drinks I feel much healthier. People don't realise the harmful effects of things often long after the harmful effects have taken place. I choose to write my own script for my life, in which I am not subject to the pollutants of our own making if I can avoid such. There has to be something inherently wrong with food heating up in containers that are probably also vulnerable to the same molecule-altering changes that produce a microwave oven's results. Nobody would heat a meal in a plastic dish in a conventional oven. Likewise, it is not healthy to place teachers here in this container, this reassignment center. We are fooled into thinking this is a voluntary situation, that we are not prisoners, but our income is discontinued if we leave, our jobs are terminated if we don't report, and therein lies our trap. We're free to go as much as we're compelled to stay. In other places and other organizations, such treatment of employees, of people, would not be done, or accepted, or tolerated. It's as if we're being placed in a microwave, being cooked from the inside with no immediately visible or noticeable sign of burning or scarring, but left too long in this container, and we will no longer be healthy or recognizable as the same before we were sent it. How long will we be left to cook and spoil?

Surface Area

Today there are representatives from the borough union office, including the district representative. A couple of other union representatives came into our room to measure the length and width, to check the space in the rooms and the number of people packed into each room. Somebody said that they think the union representatives came today as a result of the newspaper article, although others said the union representatives do visit twice a year. I wonder if they'll also count the flies in the room - yesterday there were two, and today there are three. I wonder if they'll count the number of times a car alarm blares in the morning before turning off. I find I am more protective of my mornings because it is a period of continued or extended rest my mind enjoys in addition to the night's slumber. I can empathize with the Dutch in Amsterdam who are petitioning their government to recognize a group within their society that consider themselves B-people, distinguished by the later start they prefer in the mornings matched with the later finish in the evenings, rather than follow the current majority earlier-schedule, of what they call A-people. They want to stop being reprimanded at work if they can complete their tasks on their own schedules. Quite frankly, I would like that myself, and feel more comfortable as a B-person. If I lived an agricultural lifestyle I could wake up with the sun, but electricity at night tempts me too greatly to fall asleep before it's quite late. In addition, I am more productive with my personal projects after the world retires around me. Hence I can't tolerate car alarms much in the mornings.

Why can't I be heard?

There was so much noise in the hallways and rooms today that a fellow just walked in and started speaking into hes cell phone, saying, "can you hear me now?" We looked at him and one another, puzzled. Addressing nobody in particular, he said that he couldn't find anywhere quiet enough to hear his caller with good enough reception. Supposedly we're in a quiet room, or rather our room is quiet. A friend of mine who is also a teacher said he could probably handle the reassignment center, having heard that he could just sit and read here. I told him that it it quite noisy and busy. He said that he prefers background noise and goes to coffee shops to do work or read. I suggested that it's a different scenario that is in the detention center. There's people here who keep trying to engage me in conversation, and I suppose some of them are being friendly, but others seem hyperactive and unable to sit for great periods of time at length.

I think I am gaining a closer perspective to that of my students; who become agitated in their seats and increasingly unsettled at their desks throughout the day. I wonder how they ever would have managed in my school when I was a student, in which all the students remain in their seats in the same classrooms throughout the day and have teachers come to their classrooms, rather than the students change locations. I commend our students who have no recess (as I had when I was a student), and a cafeteria-only lunch that is just one class period in duration (unlike the whole hour that I had when I was a student - for which we were also permitted to leave the school building), with only three minutes between classes. I don't think I could spend effective days under such scrutiny. For what are our students being prepared, with such school schedules? To spend their working days suspended in detention centers? It doesn't seem that the people in charge care very much about the true well-being of those under their watch. And those who do care seem to be obstructed from their endeavors. We keep having to plead, "can you hear me?"

In Decency

Think about common decency. What is it? What does it mean to be professional? Think about image and portraying oneself and perceiving others. What makes something proper, or acceptable? Is it simply social convention and agreement? A consensus of sorts? these are not the laws of the land but are the mores of the inhabitants of the land. So what does it mean to be decent? Which is more respectful; to accept somebody else's habits, or for somebody else to curb their own habits?

In the detention center today, Juan - one of the security personnel - was eating some sardines directly out of the can with his fingers. I was confused as to how to interpret the scene. Ought I to think him a brute that cannot discern between proper behavior and impoliteness, or should I respect his choice and maintain honoring him as a human being? He's done nothing truly wrong, and he hasn't disturbed me badly. It just seemed...odd. But then I wonder if that is simply because of my programming from my environment. That same programming tells me that a person who eats sardines out of a can with their fingers isn't surprising to be found working as a security guard.

However, if he were eating with a utensil somewhere else in the world, the programming there would direct one to believe that the security guard thinks himself to be better than everybody else. So perhaps we can borrow a page out of the minimalist's book who are attempting to reduce their impact on the world by only eating food that is grown within a hundred miles radius of where they live. Maybe people shouldn't venture so far from their roots only to find themselves in a foreign environment, hostile to their habits, and punitive to the point of confining them to a rubber roob - a place for outcasts.