Spoons, hot computer, complaining, rambling, & love

Too many spoons were disappearing from the cafeteria, so Pastor Tom decided that everyone gets their own spoon, and they have to bring it to all the meals. If they lose their spoon, they can buy another one for two pounds. When Om Fady (the lady who is in charge of the cafeteria) sees that not too many people have had to buy new spoons, we can go back to the old way of eating. Some of the kids are punching holes in the handles and making them necklaces. Some are wearing them as bracelets. They're having fun. I love young people.

I told my computer to turn off and put it in my bag… but it didn’t turn off apparently. I heard a strange noise coming from it a couple hours later. I pulled out my laptop, which was shrieking and felt like it was on fire, and I forced it off. (I’m sorry Dad…) Since then, my computer has worked just fine, but the fan has been really loud, and the students can’t stand it. They either offer to take it somewhere to be fixed or to break it. (Some have said that they will “attack” it. Attack is a 9^th grade vocabulary word.) I am watching my student Korollos make up a quiz, and the sound of my computer sincerely bothers him. He’s clutching his ears, and he shudders every time it gets a little louder. Oh well… it will teach him patience and help him to love the unlovable. Haha. He just handed it to me, and I graded it quickly. At the bottom he wrote, “With my blessings to you… Kero the prince of love.” Minus 2.

Apparently, this year has been the most academically challenging year that they have had at NUA, and there have been complaints. I don’t know if it is because some teachers aren’t good at teaching or if we are just holding them to higher standards. I am just so annoyed with laziness and irresponsibility. Then I consider that in elementary school, we were given assignment notebooks to write down everything that we had to do. They’ve probably never heard of that, and if they don’t remember what the homework is, they don’t do it. They come up to me a lot and ask, “Do we have anything?” I am passive aggressive. “What do you mean?” I know exactly what they mean. “Tomorrow, Miss!” “You have work and your classes tomorrow…?” “No, Miss!” “Ask me what you mean to say.” “Do we have any homework for tomorrow?” “You tell me.” I’m not always that difficult. I feel like such a complainer on here, and I apologize. One more complaint, and then I’ll talk about good things. For my grammar and writing classes, we’ve been covering the past tense for who knows how long, and so they’ve been working on writing a children’s story. It has to be told in the past tense, and they also have to summarize it, tell me the point of view, character traits, themes, and the other things that I’ve taught them. There aren’t enough computers in the lab for everyone to type their rough draft, so I split up the class. Half of them were in the lab, and the other half I gave a simple writing assignment and said that they could leave if they wanted to but there would be no excuses or complaints later. They had 80 minutes to type their one paragraph-ish stories. How many of the writing assignment did I get yesterday from 9A? Four out of seventeen. Are you kidding me? Are you serious? FOUR?! Then I beasted them and told them how lucky they were that I give them 70% credit for late work. I started out not taking any. “Do you know what you need in this class to go on to tenth grade? 70%. Many of you are failing—not because you are not smart, but you are being very lazy and irresponsible. You tested into this class, so I know that you can do the work. I give you plenty of time, and this is completely inexcusable. If you want to be in ninth grade again, that is your choice. At most high schools and colleges, late work is not accepted, and you had just better hope that you do well on the rest of the assignments.” 9B was a better about it—13/19. I’m done. Sorry.

My students are so funny though. When we have a test, I let them take desks outside, which helps control cheating, and it’s just nice to go outside. One of my 9A guys, David, brought out a desk, and stuck it in a tree, and took the desk up in a tree. I didn’t notice until he was done and couldn’t get it out. Oh I was laughing so hard. Sometimes I try to be serious, but they know when they get me and I can’t help but laugh. I’ll be taking attendance, and they mess with me. “David?” “Always here.” “Dominique?” “Just for you.” Just for you? I tried to keep my mouth shut, but I started laughing so hard. When the students know the answer, they want the world to know, so even if I call on someone, the entire class tries to answer. I’ll call on Jackline. Abanoub shouts out his answer in a sing-song voice. “Abanoub, are you Jackline?” He mutters in Arabic that we are all same to “Messiha.” I start laughing and turn around to write on the board.

Next semester, Jessica does not have to teach Reading anymore (I capitalized “Reading” because it’s the name of a class, not because I’m one of those frivolous, “think-outside-the-box” people that capitalizes random words). Because she is losing two of her classes, she is probably going to pick up a couple of mine, and I am praying that she takes two periods of writing. I can write, but I just have so much trouble teaching it. I own the world when it comes to proof-reading, but I am not creative enough or “big picture-oriented” enough to teach writing. Hopefully then I can teach a pre-algebra class or a Bible class. Maryam Mosa is considering giving me her Bible class. Oh… I would love that. I would absolutely love it. I feel like such a naggy witch of a teacher a lot of the time because grammar is so boring, so they are bored in class and don’t do their homework. But at the beginning, I give a short devotional thought, and in those few minutes, I feel like myself. I feel like if they don’t learn that “There was a boy name magdy he is seventeen…” is wrong, they will at least, hopefully, learn something more about God. They like my stories, and they have a lot of questions, that I would love to address. Answers are so important.

I don’t feel like I’m giving enough. I feel distracted, and I… I guess I know what to do. I just don’t want to. I feel like I could be more effective and like I could be serving more if I was not distracted. While I focus on helping one area, I am missing another. Once again, I am being obnoxiously ambiguous. But I just want to tell you how I feel, without divulging any information. Not fair. I know.

 I’m forgetting my nursing things. I’m going to have my parents bring my pathophysiology book when they come to visit in January. The nurse practitioner here, Peggy Miller, is letting me do some little things. I’ve gotten to give a few IM injections, and I feel a billion times more comfortable with that. Some students have heard that I’m a nursing student, and so they think that I am practically a doctor and that I have permission to excuse them from classes. Hahaha. Sure I do.

Tonight my drama class has their first performance. I stole the skit to “You Were There” by Avalon from camp. We’re doing it Egypt-style. It looks good. I’m excited for them.

I’m on a soccer team. Yes, me. I felt like I should be involved.

I’m learning some Arabic expressions and jokes, and I understand them when I hear other people say them now. “Ya maAlim” kind of means that someone is a good teacher (the meaning is taken from a movie), but it’s in a way where someone owns something. When Jessica did something really well in soccer, one of the guys shouted, “Ya maAlim!” When I was explaining the verb “draw” to 9B and drew a stick figure on the board, Mina yelled, “Ya maAlim.” Haha. He started calling me “Bent e maAlim John,” which is “daughter of the great teacher John.” They always make jokes about my dad. My name, by the way, is Sara John Emil.

I was watching a movie about the Holocaust and there was a scene in a Dutch home, and Jessica and I got excited because it looked like Iwan’s parents’ house in Holland and we had a connection with that. Then we considered what it would be like to see a movie about Egypt a year from now. “That is my place! I understand that! Just so you know, I get it! Yes! Did you hear that?! That’s exactly how it is!” And no one would understand how we would feel. I’m so glad I came with a friend. Leaving here is going to break me.

Read the first few verses of 1 Corinthians 13. If you sing a special music that is not done in love, to heaven it sounds like you are banging pots together. You can give everything to the poor. If it’s not done in love, it’s worthless. “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another”
 (John 13:35).