To quench a thirst

I ended my last blog post with a quote from Werner Herzog's A Guide for the Perplexed. And now looking back at it, I feel that my conclusion sounds cliched; after all, it's not the first time that we have read that education along with a solid health system can be the silver bullet to end all the suffering in the world. But we need to delve deeper

In A Guide to the Perplexed, Herzog uses filmmaking as a pretext, to share candid anecdotes about his life and talk about how important it is to remain through to oneself. Herzog refers to civilization "as a thin layer of ice resting upon a deep ocean of darkness and chaos" and that's where I had made the connection with education. Indeed, education can thicken that ice, but let's make no mistake: education ain't schooling.  Herzog, a proud self-taught filmmaker, had this to say about education, making a clear distinction between the 2:

"Everything we're forced to learn at school we quickly forget, but the things we set out to learn ourselves- to quench a thirst- are never forgotten, and inevitably become an important part of our existence." 

Last week, I trekked the W circuit on the Chilean side of Patagonia. There isn't a corner in that vast piece of wilderness that isn't breathtaking. Yet, looking back at the experience, it wasn't easy at all; trekking uphill carrying a 13-kilo backpack was actually quite humbling for a city boy like me so used to living in comfort. But I didn't flinch, I carried on. No matter how beat my body was, something deep down kept me going.

I wasn't always this keen on trekking.  I remember how back when I lived in Germany, my ex girlfriend had invited me to spend Christmas vacation hiking with her family in Rügen, an island north of Berlin. Unfortunately for her, all I did was whinge. At the time, I simply couldn't understand how people got a kick from walking so much and resented the whole experience.

Photo by Sean Marie Sweeney

So last week, while I trekked with my buddy Sweeners,  I recalled that experience and regretted having been so closed minded. I asked myself, what had changed over the course of the years? When did that click happen?

The fact is that back then, I didn't understand the purpose behind hiking, and quite frankly I felt it had been imposed on me. In such conditions, you could have taken me to paradise, but I would have resisted it with all my might. It took time for me to appreciate the beauty of being out in the wilderness, but that transition happened slowly and organically.

As a student I wasn't any different; I was a Maltese George Costanza, committed to my "work avoidance programme" and it seems I'm not the only one. Students might not be as eloquent as Werner Herzog in explaining to their teachers and parents why the system doesn't work for them. In fact, many of them will make it just fine. Some will even thrive through schooling. Yet we must ask ourselves, is this the best we can do?

In the last years, we've used some buzz words like differentiation, inquiry and student empowerment, and it has allowed us to enhance learning, but not to redefine it. These are all taught in a contrived setup and students see it from miles away.  I would give students KWL charts for them to fill out, yet in the end those ideas and questions would not really matter because I would have already designed that unit.

Real inquiry can only happen if we let students design their own learning experience. Inquiry is all about being able to figure out what it is that you don't know that you'll need to know in order to achieve an objective that you've set. This is darn hard, so we teachers do it for the kids;  we assume that students are too young to do it, but in doing so, we are stifling the very essence of higher-level learning and providing "the one size fits all" experience instead, assuming that everybody is at the same stage in the curriculum.

If, as from a tender age, we can get students in the mindset to have a thirst for knowledge, and show them how pursue it by planning their own learning experiences, we 'd be allowing them to become metacognitive learning machines.  In this new context, differentiation and student empowerment would take a whole new meaning because they'd be falling into place.

If you think this is too far-fetched you might want to check out Free to Learn by Peter Gray. There are schools out there such as Sudbury Valley which have been using this model for ages. Students there are in the driver's seat. Driving is certainly harder than simply tagging along in the passenger's seat, but you are more likely to remember and most importantly understand the route.

As for my Innovation Academy cohort, this semester the students will be getting in groups to plan their class projects. This is totally new and daunting for me, but I know it's going to benefit their growth. They will be the ones identifying what relevant skills and concepts need to be learned explicitly. I'll be there to support them and so will their parents; the students will be pitching the projects to them and getting their expert feedback. We refer to schools as learning communities; it's time we start putting it into practice by having parents play a more central role in their children's learning.

I chose this profession because of my deep belief that the world doesn't necessarily have to be resting on thin ice. A better world is one where individuals grow up understanding who they are and how they can bring value to the world. But for this to happen they must first learn how to identify what they thirst for and know how to quench it.

Donetsk Airport

In the last weeks, we've all seen on TV the sheer destruction taking place in war-torn Eastern Ukraine. Probably the image that stuck with me the most was that of CNN correspondent Nick Paton Walsh reporting from Donetsk airport, the once state of the art complex reduced to rubble in a matter of weeks. 

Donetsk Airport Before and After

This image is an admonishment for all of us: peace is not a given, peace is a privilege, and shame on us if we underestimate such basic fact. We always think of stability, especially in the west as a status quo, but this tragedy speaks volumes about our own fragility. Who would have ever imagined that events would escalate so dramatically in Ukraine, the very country which only 2 and a half years ago hosted the the Euro 2012? Did the architects who had so meticulously revamped that airport so that it could welcome the thousands of supporters flocking to Donetsk ever fathom that in a matter of months that building would come to symbolize this human tragedy?

And now, after a shaky truce has been signed by the parts and with a death toll that many believe may be higher than 5000, I cannot but think of Werner Herzog's ominous words: 

"Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness" 

The ice is thin indeed, but that's exactly why education matters. Make it purposeful so that it can help thicken that ice a little.  

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: