trust
I've been a ghost here lately. I haven't got much of an itch to write much about my life anymore, even though there's plenty to say outside of school, I suppose. But every now and then I feel a little vain.
I work in a center that is supposed to "help writers help themselves!" It's corny and I end up helping ESL students more than American students. For some reason, American students don't grasp the concept of the personal narrative essay. How can this be? It's a detailed essay about one event in our life. I find students often say, "First this happened. Then this happened. Last, this happened and we all lived happily ever after. The End." When I explain to them that it helps to use all five of the senses and is supposed to read like a story, they look at me blankly. It's the same thing when I explain the Evaluation Essay and the Position Essay. I do what I can to help them and pray for the best. Some of those kids won't even make it past this semester. Or next semester. And it's not because of their writing, it's because of the fear. I know that fear all too well, it nearly broke me my first year. Some of these kids have never even left their home county and are now thrust into a somewhat vigorous academic setting whose total student, faculty and staff population doubles, triples or even quadruples their hometown. It's scary as fuck, even if you came from a well-populated area.
I'm not a great writer, nor do I even consider myself one anymore, but I was hired based on previous academic papers, so I guess that must hold some weight. But, more often than not, I feel myself the odd-man out in The Writing Center. I find myself a musical literate among the actual literary literates and it's baffling. I hardly ever use the english language anymore, but have replaced it with staves and measures. I mearly speak in the english language as a means to communicate, but do I ever use it much for academics? Not lately.
I had to interpret a James Agee poem for an art song I'm learning. It took me weeks to comprehend it, and when I finally did, I felt like both a genius and a special education student at the same time. Just to be sure, I took it to a friend I trust in The Writing Center who verified that I was right. He didn't make me feel like too much of a dumbass.
Despite being the black sheep in The Writing Center, I like it. I like the people I work with, except one over-achieving, non-traditional, graduate, divorced New Yorker. I say all these things because they are stereotypically associated with Type-A personailities. She has accused me of being lazy in so few words simply because I'm a Type-B personality whose homework mostly consists of what can be accomplished in the practice room. It's hard to believe one works hard when you never see one hard at work. But every one else I work with is wonderful and never once assumes I don't belong there simply because I couldn't point out an article in a sentence when I arrived. I have since learned much about the grammar aspect of writing. Rather, I have learned the labels of all the grammar that I knew before.
I guess I just have to trust that I belong there.
I've cried in a lesson already this semester, a sign of growth for me. It wasn't a sign of musical growth, but a sign of emotional growth, which, can ineveitably effect the musical growth.
John and I are going to counseling and when he heard me say for the first time that I want to work on trust issues with him, it hit him that I still hurt from the summer. We're good now, the two of us, and our relationship most certainly has grown, but we both still deemed it neccessary to go to counseling. We rented a movie the other night, entitled, the last kiss. It's with Zach Braff, and he plays a guy who got his grad student girlfriend pregnant and they're having the baby together. He meets a young college girl and cheats on his girlfriend with her. We were incredibly uncomfortable throughout the movie, and when it ended somewhat happily and ambiguously, John cried and cried and cried. And he told me what I knew all along and needed to hear him say on his own. And just like that, he opened the door for me to trust him again.
I hope today finds you well.
I work in a center that is supposed to "help writers help themselves!" It's corny and I end up helping ESL students more than American students. For some reason, American students don't grasp the concept of the personal narrative essay. How can this be? It's a detailed essay about one event in our life. I find students often say, "First this happened. Then this happened. Last, this happened and we all lived happily ever after. The End." When I explain to them that it helps to use all five of the senses and is supposed to read like a story, they look at me blankly. It's the same thing when I explain the Evaluation Essay and the Position Essay. I do what I can to help them and pray for the best. Some of those kids won't even make it past this semester. Or next semester. And it's not because of their writing, it's because of the fear. I know that fear all too well, it nearly broke me my first year. Some of these kids have never even left their home county and are now thrust into a somewhat vigorous academic setting whose total student, faculty and staff population doubles, triples or even quadruples their hometown. It's scary as fuck, even if you came from a well-populated area.
I'm not a great writer, nor do I even consider myself one anymore, but I was hired based on previous academic papers, so I guess that must hold some weight. But, more often than not, I feel myself the odd-man out in The Writing Center. I find myself a musical literate among the actual literary literates and it's baffling. I hardly ever use the english language anymore, but have replaced it with staves and measures. I mearly speak in the english language as a means to communicate, but do I ever use it much for academics? Not lately.
I had to interpret a James Agee poem for an art song I'm learning. It took me weeks to comprehend it, and when I finally did, I felt like both a genius and a special education student at the same time. Just to be sure, I took it to a friend I trust in The Writing Center who verified that I was right. He didn't make me feel like too much of a dumbass.
Despite being the black sheep in The Writing Center, I like it. I like the people I work with, except one over-achieving, non-traditional, graduate, divorced New Yorker. I say all these things because they are stereotypically associated with Type-A personailities. She has accused me of being lazy in so few words simply because I'm a Type-B personality whose homework mostly consists of what can be accomplished in the practice room. It's hard to believe one works hard when you never see one hard at work. But every one else I work with is wonderful and never once assumes I don't belong there simply because I couldn't point out an article in a sentence when I arrived. I have since learned much about the grammar aspect of writing. Rather, I have learned the labels of all the grammar that I knew before.
I guess I just have to trust that I belong there.
I've cried in a lesson already this semester, a sign of growth for me. It wasn't a sign of musical growth, but a sign of emotional growth, which, can ineveitably effect the musical growth.
John and I are going to counseling and when he heard me say for the first time that I want to work on trust issues with him, it hit him that I still hurt from the summer. We're good now, the two of us, and our relationship most certainly has grown, but we both still deemed it neccessary to go to counseling. We rented a movie the other night, entitled, the last kiss. It's with Zach Braff, and he plays a guy who got his grad student girlfriend pregnant and they're having the baby together. He meets a young college girl and cheats on his girlfriend with her. We were incredibly uncomfortable throughout the movie, and when it ended somewhat happily and ambiguously, John cried and cried and cried. And he told me what I knew all along and needed to hear him say on his own. And just like that, he opened the door for me to trust him again.
I hope today finds you well.