"The bloodbath"

A.K.A. My Graduation day.

3 things in one room I wanted to avoid - 1) my parent's constant arguing and my Mum's consequential tantrums and sulking; 2) my ex boyfriend who I still love and adore; 3) the fact that actually, I didn't do as well in my degree as I thought.

And yet, actually, none of them were as bad as I thought. For once, and I know this sounds selfish, but the day was actually all about me and my achievement and it really was lovely. So, what happened?

1) Parent's avoided each other, Mum didn't shout, the precise timetabling of photo opportunities etc worked beautifully. Everyone was actually proud, or at least, feigned pride.

2) Spent a lot of time with 'him' and managed not to cry. Spoke to 'his' family and generally enjoyed being around him. Have arranged meeting on Tuesday and gave him his birthday card for tomorrow. Lovely.

3) Spoke to a university tutor who submitted a mark 20 marks higher than what I actually got. The mistake is being ironed out and I will only be bloody graduating with FIRST CLASS HONOURS! So excited and over-whelmed I cried. A lot. Bawled like a baby, actually, and everyone was so proud of me it really was the absolute cherry on the cake.

As perfect as it possibly could have been. Bliss. <3

Did you know we can't throw our caps in the air now? Health and Safety, you could lose an eye...

Today has been an epic see-saw of a day...

10:30am - Time to collect results. Disappointed with my dissertation mark, but not surprised.
10:35am - Pick up module results for the final 2 modules. Only, one has gone missing.
11:20am - Still no sign of my assignment, despite four different people now scouring the university for it. all lecturers on strike today.
12:05pm - My friends all go out for lunch without inviting me. "Friends"
12:20pm - Realise the ramifications of them having lost my work if it doesn't get found. Lots of tears.
12:21pm - Send panicky email to module leader. She says she is on the case.
1:45pm - Results emailed through. Gutted, actually, gutted. I've been bordering on a first for my entire degree and slip up at the final hurdle. 2:1 it is then.
1:46pm - My school ring. They have had a teacher pull out for September and wonder if I would perhaps like to teach year 3 instead next year. Very happy, year 3s are my ideal year group and I could not be happier!
2:50pm - My headteacher rings to tell me about a dangerous, nasty family who live on my road. And oh yeah, their son is in my class.

What a fucking, awful day. Excuse my French.

Bollocks.

So it's been a strange few days...

I don't know if anyone caught my blog updating you all on the date I went on the other day (it was caught up in the blogger downtime/posts deleted etc) but I ditched it anyway. I read back over it and I felt that I gave the whole thing much more gravitas than it needed. Don't get me wrong, it was ok, but all in all it was nothing amazing and all I wanted to do was go home and curl up into a ball.

Besides, after all that, I spoke to a girl from my uni course who knows the guy. The conversation went as follows:

Me: I met someone who knows you, [name]. He lives on your street.
Her: Oh yeah! I know his girlfriend!

Anyway, it turned out that he didn't have a girlfriend (although if he did, would have have told me?), not that it mattered, Thursday was a roller-coaster of emotions for other reasons so to be quite honest, I couldn't care less right now.

So Thursday was our last ever day at university as a whole cohort (we have small seminar groups left but otherwise, it's over) and also it was our first one in a while, meaning it was the first time I had seen my ex since we split up in February and lets just say, I'm not as over him as I thought. I really thought I was doing well, but it turns out that seeing him was all it took to reduce me to a sobbing wreck. The whole day was awful, he wouldn't even look at me never mind talk to me, and I just could not handle it. As soon as we left our last seminar I burst into tears, I tried to message him on BBM to see if he'd talk to me but I've obviously been blocked and so instead, I cranked up the self-pity music in the car on the way home and did what I haven't done for years and cried so much it hurt as I drove home. I thought it would make me feel better, crying usually does, but it didn't seem to help and I can't seem to pick myself up again. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I am literally suffering the most ridiculously delayed heartbreak possible.

And I'm sorry, I know this is the most ridiculous load of self-pitying rubbish and is everything I hate about blogging but I needed to vent because tomorrow I have to get up, get over it, get on with my life and try to function as a professional for a few days. And I will, I'm London-bound and that always cheers me up...

Rant over.

I thought I'd write another blog today, seeing as my last post was generally awful. Part of me feels the need to apologise for the rant, but I needed somewhere to vent and I find that writing things down is much easier and more therapeutic. I suppose it's the requirement to be logical, to structure whole sentences and to explain how you feel that helps more than standing in front of a poor friend who gets bombarded with a load of swear words and repeated "argh!"s. But anyway, it's out of my system now and I've decided just to keep an eye on the situation and make sure that I am always in a fit state to deal with it, i.e. not being too drunk, always making sure I look half-decent (i.e. like I don't live under a bridge) so that if/when I meet these people from my past, they will look at me and think "wow, she's changed" and that will be satisfying enough.

So now I've let it go, I thought I'd try again with writing a blog post today, hoping something would be presentable for Mingle Monday over at Life of Meg.

Anyway, I also realise that a lot of my blogging last month was without direction, but seeing as I was having a generally boring and repetitive month I didn't have much else to say. My life recently has generally been quite boring, and whilst I wish I had more to look forward to I have another month before anything really interesting happens.

This is because tomorrow I go back to university after what seems like forever, and even though we've dipped in and out for the odd lecture, it really has been a year since we've had structured lectures and seminars with assignments running alongside. I love this bit about my course, I love the academia, the study, the stress and that little buzz you get when you find a relevant book or article in the library. And to be honest, I love sitting in the library and working with a pile of books in front of me, it feels so studious and productive. I know it's all psychological, there's nothing stopping me from working at home, but it's just not as conducive to learning. But this will be my last month of university, and whilst I do love my course, I don't think I'll miss it.

I'm definitely ready to leave now. I feel ready to get out and actually start teaching, and in a wider sense to get out into the real world. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've made great friends on my course and some who I hope will be friends for life, but there are some others who don't seem to have grown up since their first day as eighteen-year-old fresher and it's getting really tiring now. I'd like to be around like-minded grown-ups for a change, people who don't think that getting drunk on Wednesday and turning up to a 9am lecture is 'heroic' (and we've all done it, me included, but we forgot we had a seminar, in our defence) and people who actually work their hardest all the time rather than doing what they need to get by. I can't stand that attitude, I believe we owe it to ourselves to be the best we can be and if you can't even be bothered to do that then you have issues.

Ok, I'm bordering on another rant here so I shall move on and get to the point of this post.

More interesting things I have to look forward to this month.
6th: Shopping day out with the mother (who may or may not drive me mad, it's yet to be seen);
Also on the 6th: A night out with the girls! Motto of the evening: less alcohol, more fun;
11th: Dissertation deadline! So everyone else will be done and we can go out and celebrate;
12th: Going to play tennis for the first time in 4 years with someone I've not seen in 5;
19th: Presentations for a module assessment. May not sound fun but I love that sort of thing;
26th: Penultimate essay due in, the count down is on!
27th: I can start to look at finding somewhere to live in July! Aaah!

And by the 3rd of June it will all be over, the hunt for somewhere to live will be truly on and life will kick up a gear! So please excuse me if the next month is a bit dull on the blogging front, but I hope soon to have great news and happy stories to share.

Bring on the summer! 

Why I became a teacher.

I just read a blog post from a fellow trainee teacher which inspired me to write about my own motivations for going into teaching. Thanks for the inspiration (have a look here)

When I was 8 years old, our family moved 200 miles and I had to start at a new school. I moved into a school which was nearly 5 times bigger than my old one and was plonked into a new class bigger than my old one. I was assigned some 'friends' who would show me around, be nice to me etc by my class teacher, Mrs Bullock.

She was horrible. Two out of the three girls she put me with were nasty bullies.

And needless to say, I had a very unhappy year. My teacher assumed we were all just typically bickering little girls, rather than dealing with the issue and she saw me as the problem because I was the last one into the little friendship group. I remember crying myself to sleep most nights and day dreaming about moving back to my old school where I was happy. In order to deal with me, all 90 children in the year group were mixed up when we moved onto year 5, so that I wouldn't bother those children again.

An extract from the school report she wrote about me. I still can't read it without feeling awful.

After half a term in year 5, the bullying was still going on in the playground. But this time I had a lovely teacher whom I adored and for the first time since moving, she realised what was really going on. I still remember vividly the day she marched me down the corridor to the other year 5 class, pulled the two bullies out and shouted at them. I stood behind her and cried, but cried with happiness that it was finally over, and I loved my teacher ever more for that. The rest of the year was lovely, I made new friends and made much better progress. I still believe to this day that everything I am as a person is because of her.

Much better :)

The next year I remember sitting in an assembly with my new year 6 class. The theme for the assembly was 'Special Things' and it was my old year 5 teacher who stood up to speak. She held up a little green fish - the little green fish that I had bought for her when I went on holiday to Cyprus - and told everyone how special and loved it made her feel when she had been given the present.

I sat there right then and decided that I wanted to be a teacher because if I could be even half the amazing teacher that she was and could make a child any where near as happy as she had made me, then what better way could there be to spend the rest of my life? That desire never left me.

So throughout my secondary schooling, I did work experience in schools whenever I had the chance. When I was at sixth form, I volunteered in my old school one day a week, and after my exams finished I did another full week.

I turned up on the Monday morning of that week, rubbed my hands together and asked "So, what's happening this morning?". The teacher I was working with then told me that over the weekend, a girl in the year above her class had died and that the headteacher was holding an assembly first thing this morning to tell the school.

This assembly was, without a doubt, the worse experience of my life. As we walked in, the class the girl was in were already sat at the front crying. The school filed in and the news was broken. Many of the other year 5 children cried, some from other years who knew her did too. And then, and I don't think with hindsight this was his best idea, the headteacher started to talk a bit about grief. He began by saying, "now, it's natural when we lose someone we love to miss them very much. Some of you may have already experienced this, you may have lost a granny or a grandad, maybe even a dog or your favourite hamster..." and suddenly, every child in the room which was already tense with emotion, was thinking of someone they had lost. And everyone cried, all 450 children, all the teachers, teaching assistants... everyone. It was horrible. 

We went back to the classroom and the children finished off some art work. At break time we sent them all out as usual, but three children from the bereft year 5 class came to speak to myself and the teaching assistant to ask if they could go into the stock cupboard and get some paper and card to make a 'memory book' for the girls family. They all had so many ideas and were so positive about remembering the good things about her rather than the tragedy, and I sat with them for the rest of the day printing photos, sticking in things other children wrote, helping them with drawings and putting the book together. Their attitude was truly inspiring, they were so positive and uplifting whilst the grown ups were sat in the staff room crying over sweet tea. I really felt then that not only do I have so much to give to children, but they have so much to give to me! Children kick grown ups asses so so often, if we can be a bit more like then life would be so so much better.

That day I went home and filled in my university application.

And here I am, four years later, with my own class waiting for me in September. Is it any wonder I can't wait? :)

The need to be witty.

Over the weekend, I joined a blogging forum, 20sb. This now means I have one whole follower and had more views in the last few hours than I have done since I migrated my blog! I now feel the pressure to post witty, interesting posts as opposed to the usual grumbles and observations. Now, wit is not my strong point. I do consider myself to be quite funny to chat to but I usually resort to sarcasm which, as my Mother tells me at least twice a week is, "the lowest form of wit". And as for my work? I work with 5 year olds, so any wit only extends to my performance with hand puppets! So maybe wit isn't my strong point, maybe I should just continue how I have been and see how my writing style pans out. This is, afterall, the first time I've written for an audience; I'm sure my writing will fill a genre at some point.

Anyway, the one thing which has been bugging me since I wrote my last post is the notion of friendship. Friends are funny little beans, and I find they always surprise you. The ones you think will be there for ever rarely are, and those you consider casual aquaintainces often become some of the best.

My best friend is someone I've known since my first day at my new primary school and despite boyfriends, having different friends, going to different schools and living in different cities, we've always been friends. We don't need to see each other very often, or even speak on the phone or via text, but whenever we're together it's like we live next door. I love her to bits and she is the one friend I can rely on (as long as I'm a bridesmaid next year, otherwise she's off the Christmas card list, hehe). This blog isn't about her though, she will be there; she will always be there and I know that. She's the exception that proves the rule.

My friends I have left from school are a varied bunch, and I was glad when they graduated a year ahead of me that they all came back and we carried on as if we were still at sixth form! However, after this weekend I'm feeling less sure of them, and even one of them with whom I think I am closest, I doubt I'll see again once I move. They are all moving in together in September, which is great for them, but I suspect I'll be an outsider within weeks and forgotten by the New Year. I love them now, but how long they will remain in my life I have to wonder.

As for my uni friends, who knows. One of them is a dear friend, but again, once I move, how much we will see one another I have to debate. Another, even though she is moving to London too, again I fear will filter out of my life. It's sad - I've spent every day with these girls, stressed about placements, cried over dissertations and been to so many student nights in Oceana I couldn't even count, but will it stand the test of time and distance?

Now I know that they aren't the only friends I'll ever make, as they fall out of my life new ones will fall in when I move and that's really exciting too. But I just have this horrible feeling that I'll be everyone's best friend when they want to come to London to shop or see a West End show, but that they will be more excited about where they are going rather than who they are going to stay with! They mean a lot to me, and I hope that the effort will be equal between us; me going to see them as much as they come to see me; them ringing me as much as I ring them and us always being interested in each others lives. I don't want to lose any of them, they're all wonderful in their own little way and we have some amazing fun together, and then there are those I know I can turn to when I need a cheer-up hug - I have a lovely balance right now and I'll miss that if I lose it.

Girls, please don't give me a reason to miss you.
x

Gender issues.

Yesterday, I had an absolutely amazing seminar at university. The purpose was to challenge stereotypes and to consider how we inadvertedly exert them on the children we teach. One of the workshops I went to was about children who have gender issues, be it feeling they are in the wrong body, liking to dress up as the opposite sex or just those who don’t confirm to the gender ‘norms’.

After making a list of the physical and biological features that make us male or female, we were asked to justify to the person next to us what it is that makes us male/female without referring to the list. The few things we came up with were of course weighted in stereotypes, and even at this point we had to question the stereotypes - are they cultural stereotypes of gender or gender stereotypes? And we talked about how our gender is transactional, so do we ‘have’ a gender as a child, do we become less of a woman after the menopause, what happens if we have a breast removed through cancer, if we are unable to have a child etc? It was absolutely mind blowing, and don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I am female, but why am I? What makes me a woman? And if I can’t define my gender, is it even relevant? Surely in that case I am who I am, I do what I do, behave the way I do and feel how I feel because I am me, not because I’m a woman. I’d imagine being free of those stereotypes and being able to do/be what you want to be and breaking those boundaries must be really invigorating and I’m going to be conscious of it from now on and just focus on being myself and letting others do the same.

And then of course we questioned how we deal with gender at school, how we pigeon-hole children at school, how often you say “I need some strong boys to carry this table for me”: it’s challenged everything. It really was amazing. I don’t know if writing this blog can ever do justice to the thoughts and discussion that went on yesterday, but I wanted to document and share the experience, even though it is my second blog in one day!

Jumping on the bandwagon.

Everyone seems to be blogging these days. Although I don’t like to think of myself as one to ‘copy’ others, it’s impossible to deny that I am somewhat jumping on the bandwagon. But sometimes, you need somewhere to unravel the goings on in your head, and this is what brought me to seek solace in a public blog, rather than my private 'diary'. I used to blog an awful lot when I was a stereotypical angst-ridden teenager (although I probably shouldn’t lump despression and anorexia into that umbrella) and this was mostly due to loneliness. You see, I wasn’t a popular girl, nor was I pretty or confident. I was at best one of those ‘average’ children, never doing anything bad or good enough to be of any note or worth. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point in my life.

Indeed, I used to spend hours every day daydreaming about what life would be like when I was older. “When I move out”, “when I have a boyfriend” and “when I am at university” were the common structure to my almost obsessive hopes and dreams. It does make me proud, however, to be here now, still sat on the same bed in the same house with the same flaws, but instead, am happy and confident about myself and my life. I think that’s the most amazing thing about how much I’ve changed in my three years at university (and it is this journey to which I attribute most of my change), because I haven’t really changed. The only thing that had to change was my attitude about my life, and rather than wallowing in self pity and waiting for life to happen to me, about a year ago I stepped out into the world and decided that I would make my own future and decide my own fate. I’m now sat here, in my final year at university as an almost qualified primary school teacher with my own class waiting for me on September 7th, single, starting to plan my move to London. My escape is finally nigh, and not because I want to escape my life, but because I want to finally lay the past to rest. I finally have my dream job, in my dream location, with freedom and possibilities the 16-year-old myspace blogger could never have even dreamed of.

So why am I blogging again? It’s to chart the next few years of my life, the ups and the downs, and to explore the new version of myself that I am now and am still yet to become. I’m really looking forward to the next few years and know that it will be everything I want it to be, if I make it mine.