Trust me be

Many don’t understand what’s the big deal with a bunch of guys kicking a leather ball. Well, I don't either if we're referring to American football. However, when it comes to football--I won't call it soccer round here or I'll get lynched by the masses-- then you have my full attention. Football is a religion in the Mediterranean. Obsessions are irrational, and football fans aren't immune to it. They go through emotional rollercoasters that often border the farcical and the grotesque. My obsession goes by the name of Internazionale also known as Pazza Inter (That's also the name of the team’s main anthem). And by the way, just in case you’re wondering: Inter’s not crazy in the cool way; Inter’s the let’s shoot ourselves in the foot kind of crazy. I’ve seen champions of the calibre of Bobo Vieri and Ronaldo throw the towel inexplicably when they were only 45 minutes away from winning a much awaited and agonized championship. That’s only one of the countless memorable debacles by my beloved team. Football fans are resilient, but Inter fans are in a league of their own. Inter fans are masochists.   

My buddies Daniel and Cost are masochists too. We’re comrades who have had to endure a lot. So it would only make sense that we’d fly all the way to Milan to experience it all live. And being the devoted fans we are, it also made sense to buy tickets with the Ultras in the Curva Nord, the most hardcore and masochist group of them all.

As soon as we entered the Curva, we were hyped. I was there supporting my team with my people. When we watch the games on TV, my buddies and I bring the house down, and now that we were at the Meazza, the home of Inter, I knew we could unleash it all. 

But as soon as the game started, the head Ultras came facing the crowd and demanded we all sing their chants and clap all together. Fair enough. But they did this through intimidation and pinpointed those who weren’t clapping and cheering enough. My friend Cost was one of those who got reprimanded by one of the middlemen. It wasn’t pretty. What a great way to spoil the fun.

What at first felt like the genuine need to cheer the team I’m so passionate about, soon became a constraint. I found myself cheering because I didn’t want to get into trouble with those guys, and suddenly I felt deprived of what had been until then the innate urge to shout for my boys. 

Corey says that transitions are crucial, so here’s my segway: taken at face value, football chanting and education have nothing to do with each other, especially since in a school community I find myself surrounded by great human beings.  Yet, that's the power of the metaphor.  A smart man once said that all you need to do to suppress the appetite of voracious eaters is to force-feed them. That’s what had happened to us at the Meazza; that’s what I also felt was happening to my kids back when I taught them Humanities. No matter how interesting the topic was, for many of my students the grades took precedence over everything else, stripping them from their drive to learn. I was their teacher and in many ways, I felt culpable because grades weren’t simply one of the many diagnostics we use to give students feedback; grades had become the spoon being shoved in kids’ throats. So rather than being intrinsic, motivation was for the most part extrinsic, hampering deeper learning.

I’m currently reading Free to Learn by Peter Gray. This book raises some important questions about education: should we, the adults, be in the driver’s seat of our children’s learning because of the general belief that they’re too young to make their own calls? Should education equate to obedience training? Are those students who are achieving straight A’s truly gaining deeper mastery or is their learning shallow? I personally, don’t have all the answers. The IA is a great program but it’s not flawless; in fact, I still haven’t encountered a model that is. But this much I know: iteration is key. I’m lucky enough to be at a school, that trusts me be, giving me the autonomy to explore ways of educating rather than schooling. Education should be all about facilitating a meaningful learning experience for our children, organic and tailored to each individual sitting in front of us. And in this sense, the growth shown by the kids in the IA is very encouraging. In the IA grades aren't what drive student learning. 

The biggest disservice we can do to our children is to simply embrace the status quo just because things have always been this way. We owe it to them to keep on questioning the system, and ultimately questioning our own practice.  In fact, I only question the things I love most, and education is up there in my list.

I could throw at you all sorts of literature that delves more into motivation. I'll rather end with this: if I'm watching an Inter game, trust me, I'm gonna scream my lungs out even if the team ends up losing to Torino in the 94th minute (Sunday's happy ending). You don't need to intimidate me. Instead be there for me and help me find my way. Don't assume I'm like everyone else, because I'm not. Be there for me by genuinely caring about my self-discovery.

Harmony Part 2: A Beautiful Juxtaposition

Today, I woke up with an urge to visit a place from my childhood. The playground in Mellieha Bay is secluded behind the parish church and isn't that easy to find. I suppose one can see it overlooking the islands of Gozo and Comino driving up from the coast road, but the place doesn't stand out straight away. As I stood in front of the church, I didn’t quite know if I’d still find it there, but some places outlast the decades and this is one of them. Most of the equipment in the playground has been replaced-- there’s even a seesaw for disabled children now--but to my surprise, the old rocking horse is still there. The paint's wearing off but the children are still enthralled by its imposing structure. Seen through my toddler eyes, it seemed huge and indestructible. Seeing it now again after so many years, I reckon that my perception wasn’t that warped after all.   

It’s as if time pauses in this playground; one can hear the cars drive by on the coast road beneath, but the noise is quickly muffled by the peace up here. My parents used to bring me here on Sunday afternoons, and I’d spend ages immersed in my play. The place is only 20 Kilometers away from my hometown, yet it would take us at least 2 hours to get here, courtesy of the Maltese Public Transport Authority. But it didn't matter: as a kid I loved it because it felt like a legit traveling experience and made me appreciate this place even more.

Fast forward to 2015. As soon as I got here, I started to take pictures but didn’t really know what I was looking for. Was I simply going down memory lane? I knew I’d be writing a post about this place, but had no idea on what exactly. Most importantly, I kept asking myself what was it about this place that I still treasure so much. It’s in moments like these, that I realize how complex writing is: we become consumed by a feeling, an emotion, but how can we capture it in a word, a sentence or paragraph, especially when the memories date back to my early childhood? 

But then, suddenly, it all fell into place. Next to do playground there’s a tiny cemetery, and the two are separated by an old wall. Strangely enough the cemetery doesn’t feel eerie at all; instead it whispers cozy. I’m not a huge fan of burial myself, but I can understand why people bury their loved ones here. It's serene.

On the left hand side one can see the wall covered in plaques. 

And as I stood from a distance, I understood what made this place so special to me. From this vantage point, I could see the toddlers play only a few metres away from where the dead ones are resting. The same ones that not so long ago played there too. 

We usually don't associate playgrounds with cemeteries; we're either faced with the lightness of childhood or the heaviness of death. I came here thinking that what I missed was my childhood playground. It turns out that what I loved about this place is the beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. The 2 coexist peacefully here and strike that perfect balance. Life and death. This has been a leit motif in my recent posts but there again the more I think about these 2 combined, the more it all makes sense.  It’s the new that replaces the old. The cycle of life.  

I’ve now moved to the Seaview Snack Bar facing the playground. As I sip my cappuccino and type away, I take a glance at the lucky "heirs" who flutter around mindlessly. Who knows, maybe I'll bring an heir of my own here someday.  

Adulthood

This time last year, I read Joseph Conrad's Shadowline.  Conrad uses the metaphor of the captain who's out at sea facing the elements to capture the protagonist's transition from early youth to adulthood. In many ways, this novella was quite foreboding of the year that was to come.

2014 wasn't a very jolly year; it threw at me all kinds of curved balls in both my professional and personal life. I won't go into the details but trust me, it kicked me in the ass.

In the past, I would have repudiated this annus horribilis; I would have felt vindicated by the mere fact that 2014 was coming to a close and welcomed the new year with arms wide open. But then we grow up.

The fact is that at this time of my life, I find myself crossing that metaphorical shadowline.  This time is cast with treacherous storms that are still waiting to happen. This is adulthood. I've just stepped past that invisible line so I'm still figuring it all out. However, what I do know is that when I was confronted with what felt insurmountable, I was able to withstand it and grow. And it still wasn't anywhere close to the trials that people I know had to endure this year. This is only the beginning of this new period and I'm fully aware of it.

Wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich

But most importantly, I know that all these hardships give me a deeper appreciation for life, because they're helping me get to know myself better. Pain can be excruciating but only by confronting it are we able to connect with our deeper, more spiritual self.

Yesterday, I spent New Year's Eve with my loved ones, but I ended up going home early because I wasn't feeling so well. Annus horribilis I'd be tempted to say. But as I laid in my bed all bundled up, listening to the ships' horns welcoming the new year from afar, I couldn't but feel grateful for 2014. It has been a tough teacher indeed but this is only the first of the many challenging years that lie ahead. 2014 has prepared the ground. Bring it on 2015.

Harmony

The cherry blossom epitomizes mono no aware. Photo by Heather Duvall 

The Japanese have a phrase they like to use; like with many foreign terms, its English translation, ‘the pathos of things’ doesn’t quite bring the meaning home. Mono no aware is the bittersweet feeling that we get from the impermanence of things. We feel mono no aware whenever we have that knot deep within because we know that the willow we love so much will at some point wither, the pure white snow melt, the seasons change.  Yet it would be misleading to associate this feeling solely with nature.

I’ve always felt a connection with this phrase, way before I'd even heard of it. I recall those tranquil Maltese summer nights, where as a teenager I’d lie awake at night listening to Miguel Bose whistling nostalgically in Se Tu Non Torni. I'd feel an awkward sensation that I couldn’t quite articulate. I later came to realize that what I felt was the instinctive sweet restlessness stemming from the life changes we are all bound to go through. 

Since then, a lot has changed: I’ve lived on 3 different continents, my hair has receded and I’ve learned to be more vulnerable with those around me. But time has also taken a toll on my loved ones. The very people who only years ago seemed invincible in my eyes, aren’t anymore.

It all fell into place some weeks ago, at the cinema out of all places. I was watching Interstellar. The scene with Cooper stuck in the kaleidoscope, looking at his own past wishing to untangle time stuck with me; it’s the sad reminder that we’re at the mercy of time, and so are our most intense relationships. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to rectify things, we run out of time. We’re left with the memories and a deep yearning for what could have been. And this lies at the heart of mono no aware: we have a deep empathy for the impermanence of things around us because they mirror our relationships; we’re just as fragile as them.

Image from Facebook

This is already sad enough, but what about the big elephant in the room? What about death? Well, ironically this is where things start to lighten up. As Rainer Maria Rilke states:

"Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love."

In other words, we are more likely to latch on to the things we love most because of their transient nature. If we weren't faced with the great countdown, we wouldn't have an incentive to make the best out of the time we have. In other words, time defines us because it gives us a reason to be. 

Lake Como 

I’m writing this post sitting on a bench overlooking Lake Como. The temperature's freezing; my fingers are cold, but they’re not numb just yet because the fast typing keeps the blood flowing. It's serene out here. I hadn't felt such peace of mind in quite a while. And like in those half-forgotten Maltese summer nights, I’m tempted to feel nostalgic, but I won’t. Instead, I’m going to remind myself that this is a happy post; after all, the most deep-rooted emotions live through time. Time is the yin and transcendence is the yang. Mono no aware.

Home

I need to start this post by making a premise: it won't be about education. Instead, I'm going to switch gears and write about my other love: Malta.

In the last years, I've become quite sentimental about my native country. In fact, I'm starting to feel a deep yearning for it. Indeed, many of you would say, we are in the festive period, and one always looks forward to spending time with their loved ones. 100%. But I think there's more to it. 

Some weeks back, one of my students, Cristobal, wrote an interesting blog post explaining how Halloween epitomizes the homogenized world we live in. And he's so spot on; we live in a world where airports, malls, hypermarkets, housing and what not are starting to look alarmingly identical.  For all we know, the airport in Lima could have been based on the same blueprints as that of Amman in Jordan. Dull.

And this is why I have a new found fondness for my country. Even though, Malta has had to yield to globalization over the years, it has still managed to maintain its own distinct charm. I love taking long strolls along the narrow alleys past the old grocery stores and fruit vendors. I love sipping Nero D'Avola inside the ancient walls converted into dimly lit wine bars. I love the fact that there's no Starbucks in Malta, and I can still get my coffee poured by the local guy wearing the rather fitted wife beater. Calling the coffee shop rustic would be an understatement. It might not be subjected to the most rigorous of hygiene inspections, but the experience is priceless. You'll have to trust me on this one. 

So, could it be that I'm slightly overhyping Malta's distinctiveness? Yes. Are there other cities that have their trademark charm? Definitely. But the point I'm trying to make is that we shouldn't look at conformity as the way forward. We shouldn't aspire to live in a cookie-cutter world that lacks originality and character. 

I'm a firm believer of hands-on, interdisciplinary learning; however, I cringe at the idea of having this be the only educational model at every school. There's something to be said about offering kids a wide-range of options and letting them find their best fit. Diversity offers choice and choice empowers.

Did I say this post wasn't about education? Oops. 

Are you still not sold on Malta? Then you've got to watch this: 

Round peg in round hole

This time last year, I was feeling restless, because I did not believe in what I was doing anymore. No matter how hard I tried to make learning meaningful for students, I just kept on hitting a brick wall. I was putting so much effort on my end by designing solid lessons, bringing in the experts and allowing students to have more choice in their own learning, yet it still felt somewhat contrived.

I was slowly starting to become disillusioned by it all, because I knew, deep down, that I had been foolishly trying to fit the square peg in the round whole.

And now, as I look back at last year, I can see things more clearly. Back then, I'd say that we couldn't create meaningful work in 90 minutes of class with only the internet as a resource; I couldn't provide meaningful feedback to 90 students; students couldn't juggle multiple projects. Yet, while these were all valid issues, I still did not understand the mother of all problems: students were not buying into those projects because they did not own them; I owned those projects, and the weight was starting to crush me. 

But then the IA came along,  and it all starting to fall into place. Don't get me wrong, this job is challenging; never have I felt this accountable before. Creating a professional magazine that will be judged by a real audience can be daunting. But no matter, how stressful things get, I know that this time I'm not carrying that burden of the project on my own because there are 22 students who have their hearts set on this project and are ready to shoulder responsibility. 

These students own this project because the've had a say in it; when I pitched it to them, we took a whole hour to look at the pros and the cons, we took other options into consideration, and most importantly, we did not make the decision until everybody gave their thumbs up. It took a lot of negotiating from the students' side, but they knew that their voices were being heard.

I guess it all really hit me last Friday; some IA students had gathered to discuss their current class project and out of the blue, Nicolas came up with an idea for the next project: why not start our own food business in the next semester and sell maki's at school? Deep down, I feel that we're not yet ready for such an undertaking; however, I noticed that while I was feeling doubtful about this idea, I wasn't dismissing it either; instead, I kept on listening to Nicolas.  And this was my great epiphany: in my head, Nicolas wasn't the student addressing the teacher anymore; instead, in that moment, he was my colleague, we were equal and his ideas mattered as much as mine.  

What I love most about my Grade 10 cohort is that we're not really a class anymore; we're an organization. We all have our different roles that we want to fulfill at the best of our ability, because we share a common purpose. After all, when you have their buy-in, learning will become an organic outcome.  

In education, we've invested our time and resources creating traditional homogenous classes, because of our ingrained belief that this would be conducive to learning. And here's the irony: it's only by knocking down that very system that you can see deeper learning happen.

The courage to be vulnerable: An open letter to the 2017 IA cohort

Dear 2017 innovators, 

These last days, I've been doing some reflecting on our progress as a cohort and, yes, it's been a learning curve. You guys have been faced with a lot of novelty; yet you were able to come out of your comfort zone and try out new things, the crowd-sourcing of grades being only one of them.  

However, our cohort is only 2 months old, and I'm sure that you'd agree with me that being such a young group, we still need to work on the aspect of trust. In one of our class discussions, Nickle, wisely stated that it takes time for a group of people to have deep trust in one another. And I couldn't agree more. Yet we need to start asking ourselves, what does it take to achieve deep trust within a group over time? 

Last week, I listened to a student face the rest of his peers and open-up about his progress as a learner. Like us, the IA junior class had been crowd-sourcing grades for the whole week.

I could sense the discomfort, as he sought for the right words to explain the why’s of his actions.  In the meantime, the others listened to him attentively; you could hear the drop of a needle. The words slowly started to flow and so did the tears, but the uneasiness quickly morphed into relief as it all came out. His bad habits, his fears, his desires. The moment felt so genuine; it was as if he was finally able to articulate what had been troubling him for so long.   

The fact is that most probably he would have never opened-up in this way had he not been challenged by his friends. His peers' feedback had been blunt and straightforward. Many grown-ups  would have struggled in their place; however something powerful takes place when when we are given the opportunity to see ourselves through the eyes of others: we get perspective. 

So why am I sharing this anecdote with you? Going back to fostering a culture of trust, it all starts with us holding ourselves accountable for collective growth. It’s the idea of caring so much about the others that you’re willing to have a brutally honest conversation with them, no matter how uncomfortable it might be, so that they can be challenged to grow. Because as Barreto put it, if one person grows, then the whole group will. 

But if we want to be able to have these genuine conversations, we must first be willing to be vulnerable. We unwittingly mistake vulnerability for weakness; if anything, it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable.  

Going back to the Grade 11 crowd-sourcing anecdote, he opened up because he chose to trust. It was trust that helped him let the other people in, allowing them to catch a glimpse of his fears, his insecurities and his aspirations. His vulnerability allowed him to strip down all the protective gear and simply be himself. By being authentic, he put others in the condition to empathize with him.  And when that happens, deep bonds are formed.

So, if you want to understand yourselves and bring value to the world, you'll need to be self-aware and reflective. This will require that you take a leap of faith and seek for opportunities where you can open-up to your peers and be vulnerable in front of them, because the insight it brings is invaluable. 

Yes it takes time to build trust, but it will also take a lot of courage from each and every single one of you.