Azira isn’t a talkative girl, but she isn’t particularly quiet either. I realised that something must be wrong when she didn’t seem to be interested in whatever that was happening in the class. She didn’t seem to care when Alauddin took her pencil, or when Shameer deliberately spilled some water on her book. She didn’t join the class in laughter when I told one of my silly jokes. She didn’t speak. She didn’t write. She didn’t want to do her work. She was unusually passive today. She looked weary. At first I thought she must be feeling a bit under the weather.
While the students were busy doing the work that I
had assigned to them, I went to the back of the room to arrange some books on
the shelf. I looked at Azira. Her book was open, and her pencil was in her
hand. But she wasn’t writing. She was staring at the door, as if deep in
thought. I dropped some books on the floor and pretended that I needed help. “Ooops!
Azira, would you come here and help me, please?”
Azira rose from her seat, and obediently came to
me. I asked her to help me with the books. We chatted for a bit. Then I asked
her if she’s alright. Suddenly, she broke out in tears. I held her tight. After
much coaxing, she was finally able to tell me that her grandfather had passed
away two days ago. Grandpa died in my arms, teacher. Azira told me in between
sobs. Oh dear, I’m so sorry. What happened? Grandpa was sick, teacher. Very,
very sick. He was coughing a lot and there was blood everywhere.
The little girl was shaking. She was sobbing
uncontrollably. She was traumatised and grief-stricken.
“Teacher, I
don’t want you to die”
As the winner of the 2014 Onestopenglish IATEFLscholarship, I was given the opportunity to fly to Harrogate, United Kingdom to
attend the 48th IATEFL conference in April this year. I told my students about it a
few days before I made the trip.
“You wouldn’t be seeing me for about ten days,” I
said. “Cikgu Martang will be taking over my classes, but make sure you do all
the work that I ask you to do.”
The children were, of course, more elated about
the trip than about the assignments that I had left for them.
“You’re going to the UK? Wow! Would you be seeing
David Beckham?”
“Teacher, don’t forget to bring back some
souvenirs for us.”
“Take a lot of pictures!”
“Can I come with you? I want to see the London
Bridge.”
Hahaha! I laughed. The children laughed, too.
“Teacher, please don’t go.”
I stopped laughing. I turned towards her. “You don’t
want me to go the UK?”
Izatti shook her head, slowly. “No.”
“Oh. But why?”
“That missing plane...” Izatti stammered. “MH370...”
Ah. Now I understood.
“Teacher,” Izatti pleaded. “I don’t want you to
die.”
It’s a
rough year
2014 is a rough year. Stories about wars,
calamities, natural disasters, deaths, tragedies involving airplanes and many
more tragic incidents are all over the news. I watch all these terrible and
horrifying news on TV, and my heart is broken.
The children watch, too.
I’m not a psychologist, but my few years of experience
as a primary school teacher have taught me that children don’t channel their negative
feelings in the same way that we adults do. With the exceptions of a few who
are blessed with maturity that is beyond their years, most primary school
children that I’ve worked with do not have the ability to express their
emotions clearly and articulately. But that doesn’t mean that they’re immune to
heartaches and trauma. Children are more sensitive, more delicate and more
empathetic than adults. It would make sense if they’re more deeply affected by tragedies
and disasters.
Honestly, I didn’t realise how much the news about
the missing plane affect Izatti until I talked with her father recently – months
after the incident. I learned that Izatti had had some bad dreams for a few
nights while I was in the UK. She would wake up in the middle of the night,
crying and worrying about her favourite English teacher. She was so afraid that
something bad would happen to my plane – just like MH370 or MH17 (and recently AirAsia QZ8501), that
I would never come back to Kunak and that she would never be able to see me
again.
As 2014 is coming to a close, I try to reflect on
my classroom practices throughout the year. I try to recall if I have ever done
anything in my classes that deal with all the traumatic tragedies and incidents
that my students are exposed to. Have I ever asked my students how they feel
about what they’ve seen on TV? Have I ever tried to find out how those
tragedies affect them? Have I ever showed that I care?
Dealing
with tragedies
My experience with Izatti and Azira made me think.
I started questioning how many more of my students are suffering emotionally
without me realising it. My students don’t talk openly about how the loss of
(or the possibility of losing) a loved one affects them. Maybe they talk about
it with their friends, I don’t know. But they certainly don’t talk about it
with me very often. Azira was one of the very few students whom I managed to
persuade into opening up and sharing her emotions with me.
It isn't my territory, I know. I don’t receive any
specialised training in children counselling. Some people say it’s best to
leave the matter to the experts, like the school counsellor or the religious
teacher for instance. I wouldn't disagree with that. However, as a classroom
teacher, I have to make connections with my students. I need to know my
students’ problems and understand them well. I need to provide them with the
support that they need. It is necessary if I were to do my job effectively. I
certainly can’t teach a student well if he or she is struggling with something
inside. My students can’t learn if they have to be distracted by something that
takes away their focus on learning.
Maybe I don’t have the expertise to provide my
students with professional counselling, but getting them to talk about things
that are weighing them down would definitely help.
“I feel lighter”
Sometime in the middle of this year, there was a
big fire in Kunak that had destroyed over a hundred houses and affected more than
50 families. One student in my class was affected, too. The school did its best
to support our students who were affected. We raised funds. We donated clothes,
food, school supplies and other necessities. Because of the sad tragedy, my
student had to be absent from school for a few days.
When he came back to school, everything was normal
again. It seemed to be so, on the surface at least. He was back in class,
participating in lessons, doing his homework as usual. We had helped him and
his family, hadn't we? We had helped lighten his family’s burdens in some way. He
was doing okay. Or was he?
“Hey.”
He smiled. “Hey, teacher. What’s up?”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” (The ‘standard’ SKK2-student
answer).
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “You've got time,
teacher? Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
It wasn't a long conversation; it probably took just
about 5 to 10 minutes. He talked about the night when his house was on fire. He
told me how his father took his mother and siblings out of the house, and how
he had to leave his favourite badminton racquet behind.
“Sorry, teacher.”
“There’s nothing to apologise for. I’m glad you
want to share all these with me.”
He stared at me straight in the eye, with an
amused look on his face.
“You know what?
“What?”
“I feel lighter.”
I believe that it is important for me to help my
student to relieve some of his sadness and grief by expressing his feelings,
but I need to be extra tactful. Feelings are delicate matter. Some children might
not want to go back and revisit the traumatic incidents that they've experienced,
and I must respect them. I must never force them to talk if they don’t want to.
But I think it is also important for me to let the children know that if they
ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for them – and I’m all ears.
Writing
about it
Some children prefer to write about their feelings
rather than talk about them. When I first started to encourage my students to
keep a journal, I didn’t expect that it would become a channel for them to vent
out their anxieties and fears and worries. I just wanted to encourage them to
write so that they can improve their English.
Keeping the journals has helped the students to
improve their English (and I’ll write more about it in the next post). But the
benefits are more than that. In addition to helping my students to learn how to
reflect, it helps them to express their feelings and give them the courage to deal with the
situations that they have to face. It has taught me a lot, too. My students’
writings have helped me to know my students better, and they have brought us
closer than ever. I no longer see my students as just a bunch of children
sitting in a classroom. My students’ journals have changed me both as a teacher
and also as a person. But more on these in the next post.
 |
| My students' portfolios, where they keep their weekly journals |
 |
| With my students at the end of the school year. They're showing off their journal portfolios. |
Teaching
empathy
My heart goes out to all the victims of the terrible flood that swept over the east coast of peninsular Malaysia recently. I can’t
imagine what the victims must be going through. They’re in my thoughts and
prayers a lot, especially the children. I imagine if they were my students. If
I were their teacher, what kind of emotional support would I give to these
children when they come back to school in January?
Since the area where I teach is not affected by
the flood, how would my students deal with what they’ve seen about the tragedy
in the news? Are they affected emotionally? Does it make them scared or
worried? Do the sufferings of other people living far from them touch them in
any way?
Tragedies are unfortunate and heartbreaking, yet I
also realise that they can provide opportunities to teach empathy to children. What
can we do to alleviate the sufferings and pains of other people? What kind of
help can we offer?
We can donate money and stuffs. We can raise
funds. We can send postcards and letters to make the victims or their family
members feel supported and comforted. We can make posters to create awareness. We
can pray for the suffering people, together. I guess it doesn’t take an expert
to tell you that helping people always results in happiness, both to the ones
being helped and to the ones who help. In most cases, the joy is more in
abundance to the ones who help.
I’m no expert in children’s psychology, far far
far from it. However, there are always some little things that I can do as a
teacher. I can help children to deal with their trauma by showing them how to
channel their anxieties to productive activities that can make them feel useful.
There’s nothing that can beat the feeling that comes when you know you’re easing
someone else’s burdens. Try to do that in your class or with your children, and
look at their proud and joyful faces. What satisfaction it brings. How relieved
they look. How triumphant they feel. If you’ve done it before, I’m sure you’ll
know what I mean.
It’s
unavoidable, and they’re part of it
As an adult, I’m often too absorbed in my (pitiful)
‘adult’ way of thinking and feeling. I often make the mistake of thinking that
tragedies and calamities are ‘adult thing,’ and I don’t discuss those subjects
with children very often. I tend to forget that children watch everything, they
heard everything. They see it on TV. They read the news. They listen to adults’
discussion about it, though they’re not often invited to take part in it. They’re
traumatised as much as adults, maybe even more.
Sometimes children in my classes are themselves
the victims of tragedies and calamities. Sometimes unfortunate things strike them
directly. As a school teacher, I sometimes take it for granted that the
emotional needs of the children affected by tragedies are well-taken care of by
their parents and families. I don’t consider providing emotional support for
children who have undergone traumatic experiences as my responsibility, simply because
I’m not an expert in the field. It isn’t my duty. I should leave it to those
who know how to handle it better, like the school counsellor for example.
But I also learn through my limited experiences
that children don’t care whether I’m an expert or not. All they care about is
that they trust me. They don’t run to an expert for emotional support. They run
to people whom they trust.
After all, I don’t need to be an expert in order to
lend my ears and empathise. I just need to love. And to care, genuinely.
“Learning is
a result of listening, which in turn leads to even better listening and
attentiveness to the other person. In other words, to learn from the child we
must have empathy, and empathy grows as we learn.” – Alice Miller
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