The Lady's Silence

Last night I watched The Lady, a film documenting the rise of Aung San Suu Kyi from Oxford housewife to Burmese freedom fighter. It’s difficult not to be touched by the passion, bravery and sacrifice she shows for the Burmese people, who suffered not only the indignity of over a century of British colonial rule, but also decades of brutal military dictatorship, which continues to this day. The actions of Suu Kyi have resulted in millions of Burmese looking to the future with hope, rather than trepidation. However, her silence in recent years in relation to the Rohingya situation in the country’s north has left me perplexed.

In her youth, Suu Kyi left Burma to study in the UK, and while at college met her husband, Michael Aris. They settled in Oxford and lived a comfortable life, but everything changed in 1988 when Suu Kyi visited her dying mother in Burma and discovered her political calling. This period saw the first tentative steps forward for The National League for Democracy, with Suu Kyi flexing her leadership muscles, while molding her philosophy of non-violent political change. Many influential meetings ironically took place in the family home, the very place where her father dreamed of a free Burma half a century before.

Suu Kyi's father, Aung San, played a pivotal role in securing independence from the British, but his assassination just six months before the historic handover meant the father of modern Burma never tasted the sweetness of political autonomy.  Suu Kyi followed in her father's footsteps and attempted to instill dignity and belief into a wounded people, stoking the fire of hope within the nation's heart. 

In the eyes of the Burmese people, Suu Kyi overflows with goodness, and her persona, which is gentle but firm, is a potent catalyst for change.  She represents a flame of hope burning brightly in the face of governmental cronyism and ineptitude. This manifested itself in her landslide victory in the 1990 election, the first democratic election since 1960. However, her win was anathema to the military elite who laughed in the face of the country's collective will and placed Suu Kyi under house arrest, where she remained for the next fifteen years. At the same time, influential members of the National League of Democracy languished indefinitely in Burma’s jails. Their only crime was instigating change in a land where misrule had robbed generations of a future.

There is little doubt that The Lady, as Suu Kyi is affectionately known in Burma, acted with drive and forethought, attempting to fulfill her father's destiny and propel Burma forward towards a better future; however, in the wake of her dominance of Burmese politics, her failure to speak out about the plight of the Rohingya Muslims in the countries north east has tarnished the image of the Nobel peace laureate. 

In recent years, Rakhine state in Northern Burma has been rocked by ethnic violence between Buddhists and Muslims. The severity of the situation, combined with the fact that many Muslim monks are hiking up tension with incendiary comments, led me to consider a number of questions:

Why is this upholder of the good, this embodiment of compassion not saying more?

Suu Kyi's silence strikes a chord of unease in the heart of human rights activists, many of whom are beginning to question her motives.

Is she being politically expedient?

Perhaps Suu Kyi is widely tipped to win the 2015 election and become the leader of the country; thus, a show of support for the Rohingya could infuriate Buddhist voters, who in turn might punish her at the ballot box.  

In June, 2013, Suu Kyi broke her public silence on the Rohingya issue when she condemned the government’s two-child policy, which puts a cap on the number of Rohingya offspring per family. The junta state overpopulation as justification for the policy; however, it’s a Muslim only policy and doesn’t apply to the country’s 90% Buddhist majority.

Who knows what the future holds for Burma, The Lady, or the embattled Rohingya minority. Memories of what happened in Ruanda are still vivid in the minds of international observers, and to prevent the unspeakable happening, Suu Kyi might have to speak out more often to prevent a catastrophe.

Short Story - Alcoholic Case by F. Scott. Fitzgerald

In the story An Alcoholic Case by F. Scott Fitzgerald, an idealistic young nurse is assigned a case with an alcoholic cartoonist. Her role is to assist him overcome his addiction, but after a short time, a lingering threat of violence causes the nurse to walk away.

“Suddenly she dropped it like a torpedo, sliding underneath her hand and slithering with a flash of red and black and the words: Sir Galahad Distilled Louisville Gin. He took it by the neck and tossed it through the open door into the bathroom.”

Her boss agrees with her decision and attempts to find a nurse with more experience dealing with alcoholics. However, her efforts are in vain. The nurse, inspired by reading about Mary Nightingale, decides to be a hero and return to the man as without her he has nothing. When she arrives back at his home, he is perky and full of life, but this mood is short lived. The topic of booze arises, and the man’s facade vanishes. In the final harrowing lines, the man makes up his mind that he wants to die, and the nurse knows she is powerless to prevent his demise.

“She knew death – she had heard it. Smelt its unmistakable odor, but she had never seen it before it entered into anyone, and she knew it before it entered into anyone, an she knew this man saw it in the corner of his bathroom: that was standing there looking at him while he spat from a feeble cough and rubbed the result into the braid of his trousers. It shone there crackling for a moment as evidence of the last gesture he ever made.”

This short story shows that some obstacles in life are insurmountable. Fitzgerard, being an alcoholic, was painting an admission of his own inability to kick the bottle. As sad as the demise of the man is, it’s a poignant reminder of the vice-like grip that alcohol has over many in society, and the premature end it delivers to those who fall under its spell. 

Enjoy.

Read the story here

Reverse Reading Revisited

Thanks to Jackie McAvoy supplier the main thrust of inspiration for this lesson.

If you want to check out the original, you can here: 

http://www.teachingenglish.org.uk/activities/writing-through-reverse-reading

I have modified it slightly and added a visual element.

Level: Pre Intermediate and above

Time: 50 minutes

Vocabulary: Detective, blow up, bridge, gold bullion, criminal, enemy, thunder and lightning, picturesque, waterfall, nature reserve, evil, magician, poisonous snake, lethal, arrest, jail  

Materials: 

Students - Notebook and pen 

Teacher - Download the following images:

http://eagnews.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/spy.jpg

http://online.wsj.com/media/1228pod01.jpg

http://cdn-wac.emirates247.com/polopoly_fs/1.279083.1281837902!/image/3384850608.jpg

http://www.tustrucos.com/software/wallpapers/Maravillas-de-la-Naturaleza/paisajes/Stormy-Weather-Saguaro-Cactus.jpg

http://static.travelblog.org/Wallpaper/pix/waterfall_desktop_background-1600x1200.jpg

http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs51/f/2009/279/7/2/Evil_Magician_by_Ncio.png

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTrBDmYRAitJa8eSQdadrQZoqBCfe1pxdgHcnrZENa9m6JMRICwUorIEORXRPCZcFnrmtS_pnrZiTUkc3v-KJr7AEvj3aF91p7HJYKnzUijx9BYFcKh9PJ3R-6aKAYCuUbVK7H6ReRnA/s1600/snake+mouth.jpg

http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01383/police_arrest_1383846c.jpg

Stage 1: Explain to students that something terrible happened to you this morning. Student speculate on what this might be. Feed back and note any emergent language. 

Stage 2: Tell students that you had a story prepared to read to them, but sadly your dog ate it.

Stage 3: Tell students that that they are going to predict what the story was about. Dictate the past tense questions that relate to Mr Jones 'interesting' day.

1. What was Mr Jones's job?
2. What was he going to do?
3. Why?
4. What was the weather like?
5. What did he decide to do after that?
6. What didn't he want to do?
7. Why?
8. What was the surprising end?

Stage 4: Students predict the answers. Encourage students to be as imaginative as possible and use dictionaries. 

Stage 5: Monitor and check grammar and spelling

Stage 6: Students mingle and share their prediction with other students

Stage 7: Tell students that you have some clues that show what really happened (the pictures downloaded above directly relate to the 8 prediction questions) Show each picture in turn and elicit as much detail as possible. Push students to be as descriptive as possible and write emergent language on the board.

Stage 8: Student write the real story by using the picture prompts and the new language on the board.

Follow up: Students can make a story board for homework

Collaborative Writing and Peer Correction

(William Turner: Landscape with a River Bay in the Backgraound.)

This activity is great for reviewing vocabulary as well as improving writing fluency and accuracy.

Language Level: Pre-Intermediate and above
Learner Type: teens and adults
Time: 30 minutes
Topic: Vocabulary Review; writing fluency; peer correction
Language: Vocabulary; general grammar review

Preparation, materials and equipment

1. For this activity you will need a blank piece of paper for each student. Alternatively, students can use their notebooks.

Part 1: Introduction

2. Spider diagram target previously taught vocabulary on the whiteboard; review and drill.

Part 2: Instruction

3. Tell students that they have to work as a team to make a story; this is done in 10 stages: in the first stage they have to write for 30 seconds and then pass the paper to their left; in the second stage they write for 1 minute and then pass; in the third stage one minute thirty seconds etc. Continue until ten stages have been completed.

4. Write a sentence starter on the whiteboard for each student in the class: eg. “Suddenly” or “And then something wonderful happened”. The teacher should be creative at this stage.


Part 3: Productive Skills

5. Students continue the sentence and then pass their piece of paper or notebook to their left.


Note

Point out that students need to read and correct the work passed to them before adding their own work.

6. This process continues with the teacher timing the students on a stopwatch. The teacher should also encourage slower students to speed up.

7. The process continues until students have gone through ten stages.


By the end of the productive stage, students will be energized and attentive.

Part 4: Peer Correction

8. Tell students they have 30 seconds to correct the work in front of them using a red pen.


9. After 30 seconds, students pass the corrected work to their left and peer correct again.


10. This process is continued until students have their original starter word in front of them.

Part 5: Oration

11. Individually, students read each collaborative story and teacher records them.

Part 6: Vote

12. Students vote on which story they liked best and why.

Part 7: Teacher Correction

13. Teacher explains any common errors on the white board.

Follow up:

14. Email the most popular story to the students; students can use the video for intensive listening practice at home, writing the story as they hear it.

15. Students can translate the story voted best in to L1 and translate it back into L2 at home.

16. Students can continue the story at home and present it at the beginning of the next lesson.

Ranting Under the Stars in Phuket

Painting by Pierre Koukjian (http://pierrekoukjian.com/)

Moving house is a tiresome business. Kay and I are tired, but this is not something to bemoan as we’re happy, settled and sensitive to the fragility of life and our place within it. Thus, tomorrow, being our day off we intend to rest and bathe in red wine. It’s the only way.

Currently, I’m wading my way through Dostoevsky’s ‘The Idiot’ and being a novel full of agonizing cruelty and deceit, it provides a soothing backdrop to my every day activities in Phuket. Daily contact with lies, theft, gossip, underage pregnancy, a revolving staff turnover, mosquito infestation, rats and wife beating all compete for my attention, but I feel reinvigorated by Russian tales infidelity and introspection.

“Long live Fyodor!”

Living in a foreign country has its moments of frustration. These can cause one to react in outbursts of spiteful indignation. Nasty caustic words are hissed and then regretted; people are offended and disappear never to be seen again. These undesirable occurrences are a result, as I see it, of cultural egoism and arrogance and it’s essential to recognize these traits to remain sane. In consequence, I have worked hard over the last few years to understand why confusion between cultures comes about; it has been an enlightening albeit laborious process. Over time, the bewilderment one feels when something doesn't fit your cultural experience, begins to melt away allowing to cultural patterns of thought and behavior to emerge. As a result, actions that were once seem as “irrational” are dealt with more level-headedly, and one becomes more in tune with how the other culture operates. Therefore, experience teaches which action is appropriate to achieve the maximum social harmony within a given cultural context and utterances of “wh” questions over trivial matters decrease in number.

These days I find myself reacting with an ironical smile rather than disgust when I get charged a ‘Farang price’ on goods or services in Thailand. For example, one day last year I fell victim to this unofficial dual-pricing at a local nature reserve. Consequently, I found myself at home, wriggling in my chair completely at a lost. Why did this happen? Did I not earn Thai Baht, too? Surely these people feel shame, dishonour, corrupt and degraded by such actions? Gloomily and reluctantly, I asked a Thai acquaintance why this crass system of daylight robbery occurred. His answer got me thinking: “Because Farang are rich” he said, his face beaming with sincerity. Suddenly, I felt a moment of spiritual darkness; vague expressions and phrases pulsated inside my head. Is my brain functioning correctly? Conscious of eyes watching me I said with genuine passion: “So why are rich Thais exempt from paying the higher rate?” He giggled like a school boy; his upper lip twitched as if in spasm. He stood up, excused himself and left the room. I now refrain from asking “why” questions in Thailand.

Presently, I feel rather more at home in Phuket. Whether this is due to me becoming more learned in the intricacies and nuances of Thai culture or something else, I am unsure. After all, it’s tough being objective a foreign land. Whatever the causal factors may be, I feel mellower now, less likely to plunge into darkness over a situation that I can’t relate to.

As a result, I've become aware that a position of cultural relativism is desirable when living in a developing country. What’s the alternative? Hang out in ex-pat bars, drink yourself to death and listen to Jimmy, a roofer from Essex, foaming at the mouth about how things wouldn't be done like this is England bla bla bla... Balls to that! I'd rather vomit. Not only are the majority of ex-pats lecherous, they are also disproportionately irritable over every trifle. Of course there are many upstanding exceptions to this, but few come to mind. Thus, I keep my distance and try with utmost precision to converse with constructive members of society. These, however, are thin on the ground.

In short, life is good: I live near the beach, eat nice food, drink average wine and don’t detest life. Moreover, my tug-of-war with Thai culture has reached a point of learned understanding and acceptance, allowing me to look to the future with a cynical, yet loving smile.

Visas Blues in Phuket

Some cool Graffiti in Phuket town by the French artist NOE TWO.

http://www.isthisthefuture.co.uk/category/artist/noe-two-france/

Living in a foreign land has its moments of frustration, and Thailand is no exception. Mundane tasks like going to the market can turn into epic misadventures for the uninitiated. Daily, I observe foreigners with knitted brows and twisted features gesticulating manically at ticket touts. For some, dealing with a traffic attendant can cause a twitchiness in the left arm that will one day have them curling up in pain like a like a caterpillar on floor. Subtle differences in culture unknowingly result in resentment for unsuspecting travelers and locals alike. Over the last decade or so, I have lived, for extended periods of time, in a number of countries, China being one of them. And in all places conflict ebbs and flows between the local population and bright eyed visitors. However, nowhere suffers from this problem quite so acutely, in my experience, than Phuket. A paradise island it may be, but for the ten million visitors who grace its golden shores annually, certain cultural nuances cause them to act in ways that leave them searching deep inside themselves for answers.

Choosing a place in Phuket that epitomizes the above is not easy due to the fact that there are so many, but, if one feels like having a peep at the darker side of human nature, a place where grown men are reduced to blubbering messes and cultural arrogance meets theatre, then Phuket town’s immigration office is your first port of call.

For those who have not been to Phuket Immigration office, count yourself fortunate. It is a stuffy little box in which six distinct sets of people frequent for visa reasons: leather faces old men with droopy elbow skin, women with leather faces with even droopier elbow skin, gangly Russian women hobbling about in tasteless 10 inch heels, hung over thugs in sportswear stinking of booze and stale cigarettes, stoic faced men in suits staring at Blackberries, and yacht people wearing deck shoes and knee length chino shorts with sun glasses on their head. All are here for to get an extension on their visa and all anxiously avert eye contact. A silent, frantic atmosphere envelops the room and the only sounds that can be heard are conversations in broken English between the officers and the expectant visa hopefuls. All of which are tinged with mistrust and the threat of violence.

“I wanna apply for my marrage visa.”

“You, sign your name!”

“I did already, see?”

“I said, you sign name! You have name?”

“There it is right there!” (points with finger)

“No name. You have name, yeah? You not have name? You come back. You not correct paper.”

“Look, I was here last week and he (points condescendingly at another officer) told me which documents to bring. And here they are.” (sarcastically drops papers onto the desk; mouth opens to reveal tobacco stained teeth; right eye twitches in rhythmic spasms.)

“You go get son birth certificate.”

“Why do I need that for a marriage visa? I have done this for 10 years and never before have I needed that, and what’s more, HE said I didn’t need it. (points again at the other officer who shuffles uncomfortably in his chair.)

“You go.”

“What do I need to bring!” (teeth clench and spittle forms and the corner of the mouth; eyes red and protruding.)

In situations like this the officer is in full control. The visa applicant is wholly dependent on him and the man in uniform plays this game in full knowledge of his powerful position. It can be painful to watch. Two diametrically opposed cultures are at logger heads and at pains to meet half way, but the reality is that there can only be one victor; therefore, the applicant inevitably leaves either happy or embittered, and the officer doesn't care. Why would he? He’s only doing his job after all.

After experiencing many encounters like the above I am not really surprised that the officers act in this way. Every day they come face to face with angry foreigners who are frustrated by the often nonsensical mountain of bureaucracy that they have to climb. Consequently, both parties are frustrated and short tempered and fireworks are inevitable. For me, though, I refuse to let this formality get the better of me. I smile and am always well prepared. Nothing can fluster me while I am in the chair. I wear blinkers, blocking out the silliness around me, focused on my goal. This goal was achieved again last week when I was granted another one year visa. As I walked out the office and the midday sun caused me to squint, I smiled warmly at a pensioner and his twenty five year old wife, safe in the knowledge that it would be ninety full days until I had to set foot in the place again.

Marching Forward into 2011

Dear all:

The sun of 2010 has already set and disappeared resolutely beyond the horizon, leaving me with what feels like a clean state; this state provides me a canvas on which to draw up plans, however feasible, for the forthcoming twelve months. I, for one, have high hopes for 2011; what those hopes entail and where they will lead me is another matter entirely, but I know for sure, that whether trivial or not, I am going to try and enjoy every last second of my experiences.

This is about as upbeat as I can be really, seizing the opportunities when they arise, and attempting, as pro-actively as possibly, to mould my future into a sculpture of emanating beauty; after all, we only live once, so why not? Of course, in the past year I have not always been so full of optimism; far from it, in fact. There have been some lows that have scraped viciously and without remorse at the depths of my humanity, causing murky thoughts, not to mention actions; however, I have unceremoniously thrown away their toxic influence, and moved on the wiser.

However, that being said, the previous year has had many positive moments, ones to remember. Business has been swift and profitable, albeit at times asphyxiating and all-consuming. Nevertheless, I am very aware that nothing in this life can be achieved without graft, nothing; thus, I have thrown myself head-first into the project and, whether the gods are smiling or not, I’m all in.

Kay and I remain as strong as ever, yet we have had a tumultuous 2010 with her ‘so called’ family. Honestly, and with utmost sincerity, to go into details on this issue at this point would result in an unfettered diatribe of bilious battery acid being spat all over my computer, so, for the sake of midday decency, I will refrain from exposing the finer details. In short, Kay and I are hunky-dory, as always.

Aside form making money and prancing about like a meerkat on methamphetamine 15 hours a day, I have spent the last year reading as widely as the slivers of free time that I have allow me. These novels have provided me with essential vitamins, nourishing my mind and, for the best part, prevented the stresses of daily life erupting in a explosive aneurysm. For this I am indebted to Chekov, Camus, Hemmingway, Russell, Hunter Thompson, and last but not least, Bryan Magee on YouTube, for his succinct dissection of the great thinker of our time (Especially Wittgenstein)

Anyway, on that note, I am off to gorge myself on another chapter of Russell’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ that was so generously send to me by one of today’s great philanthropists, Mr. Stephen Hanna.

For all of you who I have now been in touch with in some time, please write back and tell me how life is treating you.

To you all, Have a wonderful and successful 2011.

A Difficult Week

As life continues to meander ever steadily from its source, the undulating landscape causes periodic turbulence, disrupting the steady flow. Unconsciously, one is jolted to a clear, lucid vision of immediate reality. A sandstorm of daily routine sweeps us unknowingly off our feet, blinding us of the immediacy of our existence.

The delightfully pessimistic 19th Century German Philosopher Arthur Schopenhaur succinctly alluded: ‘That which has been no longer is; it as little exists as does that which has never been. But everything that is in the next moment has been. Thus the most insignificant present has over the most insignificant past the advantage of actuality, which means that the former bears to the latter the relation of something to nothing.’

The hullaballoo of everyday life is overpowering on the senses, causing one to fatalistically neglect the present moment. Maintaining awareness of what is, in the face of grippingly powerful illusions of what might be and what has already been, is no mean feat. Plato summed up this notion in five powerfully profound words: ‘Continual becoming and never being.’

Wrestling oneself from this illusory state is a challenge that will last a lifetime. There is no finishing line, only endless laps to be run.

Events of the last week have provided me with a perceptual nudge in the direction of appreciating what is. I was indiscriminately attacked for reasons that will forever remain a mystery. One hears of incidents like this daily, but one remains oblivious to their arsenal of negative energy, until one becomes the victim.

Brutish, dirty, and thuggish episodes imprint themselves on the psyche, and are not easily erased. One must remain strong in the face of crazy thoughts, fighting off the urge to react like a wild animal. One must make a positive from a negative, and not fester in soul destroying hatred and self pity. To achieve this, a painful, yet liberating shift in thinking is required: Is one going to be thrown about violently in stormy sea of emotions, or take charge and say all is quite well? It’s a perceptual flick of a switch that frees one from falling into an abyss of negativity.

One has simply to be happy with what is, as this is all there is. Schopenhaur phrases this concept beautifully once again: ‘In the first place no man is happy but strives his whole life long after supposed happiness and he seldom attains it; as a rule, however, he finally enters harbour shipwrecked and dismasted.’

This week has been physically and mentally an uphill struggle, but an illuminated one all the same. Existentially, a golden egg has fallen from the sky and landed in my lap. For that I am grateful.

Mike

The Future is the Internet - The Internet is the Future

Picture from: http://www.impactlab.com

In recent days my head has been spinning. The internet is getting to me: Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Blogger, Myspace, Wikipedia, youtube - the list goes on snaking its way ever skyward like some serpentine colossus. Where is this new cyber world located? Its physical tangibility is something that perplexes me. How can we rationalize this global phenomenon, and make sense of this pulsating beast of ever growing complexity, when its whereabouts are beyond the imagination of the majority of its users?

What got me thinking about all this was something that happened during my reading skills lesson this morning. For me this was a first and I am sure it is a sign of things to come.

After pre-teaching a handful of new adjectives and adverbs to two new excellent students, I gave them the opportunity to take down the work from the whiteboard into their notebooks – they declined. Instead a mobile phone appeared and a student began to take pictures of my semi-legible scrawl at the front of the classroom. Intrigued, I probed the eager students further to figure out the point of all this technological posturing. They stated that the pictures would be sent via email to each other, and then copied into their notebooks at home. I don’t know why, but this blew me away. Feeling introspective, I sat looking out at the rapidly rising sun as the mid-morning heat pulled dance moves in continuous waves scorching the leather on my desk.

The internet is a first in our history. It has made the unfathomable, fathomable; the unthinkable, thinkable. In the 1950s science fiction writers had shiny, metallic visions of the future full of flying motor vehicles, robotic servants, and delicious meals in a pill, but not one foresaw the advent of the internet

The late great Aldous Huxley in ‘Brave New World’ and ‘Brave New World Revisted’ demonstrated his belief that technology would eventually lead to our collective enslavement and subsequent downfall as a race. Could Huxley’s stirring of the predictive tea leaves turn out to be correct? Is man destined to over play his hand? What will be remains to be seen, but one thing we know for sure is that things can’t be un-invented.

The internet has the capacity for being the greatest tool for individual freedom the world has ever seen; but, what if it was used to thwart our development, and create something demonstrably awful. Could Huxley’s dystopic vision of technological dictatorship become a reality?

I don’t see the future as a bleak, shapeless and monotonous like Huxley. Expounding views such as these does little for the advancement of human kind, but at the same time it does not negate the possibility. The internet is an amazing resource when used responsibly.

The wealth of information at our fingertips has never been greater. It it an opportunity to grow intellectually, socially and financially heralding in a new age of understanding and coexistence on this planet. Advantageous information is out there and we can all access it and grow together in unison. In these terms the future is filled with wondrous possibility, rather than enslavement.

An eastern scholar once said that enslavement is only in the mind. The actions of my students today started a flow of thoughts running though my head, reverberating like a tuning fork. It took the form of a mantra, one that will have a succinct grounding for generations to come.

The future is the internet; the internet is the future.

Mike

Lessons From History

All political systems are flawed – This creates a fundamental problem when attempting to beat a path thought a dense thicket of societal inequality. Idealistic notions of cooperation between men, intellectual advancement and the slicing of society’s cake into equal pieces are dreams of any would be revolutionary.

Throughout history one problem has remained for those who desire to dismantle what is: the overthrowing of the state requires by default a need to defend oneself from the inevitable backlash, by the use of force – in other words, to become what you have opposed. Marx’s prediction that the state would ‘wither away’ has thus far in our history not proven to be a natural inevitability. More odiously, secrecy and ruthlessness have soon appeared on the revolutionary stage before the final piece of bunting has even been removed.

This paradoxical mirror imaging of the enemy is of course a matter for one to digest and rationalize in whatever way fits - One man’s revolutionary is another’s terrorist after all. Thus, what’s a budding Trotsky to do when faced with this seemingly intractable dilemma? He can sit on his hands and dream about a future that will never come, or puff out his chest, clear his throat, and embrace the unavoidable – it’s a do or don’t situation.

The reason for all this talk of subversive is this: as soon as night gives way to day tomorrow the sauna like streets of Bangkok will be shimmering with renewed revolutionary intent. The dramatically diminished numbers of UDD protestors would have had even the tightest fisted of gamblers laying his mortgage on a red free Bangkok by the weekend, but tens of thousands are to come from the Northern and North Eastern provinces tomorrow. For all those involved in grass roots politics, a collective tilt of the hat must be given for this admirable organizational feat that in reality gives the red shirts their last bite at the revolutionary cherry.

The potent whiff of violence is in the air once again - As long as the UDD’s mass gathering fails to achieve the dissolution of the lower house, there is a real possibility that the group could change tactics in favour of disruptive or even violent direct action. The blocking of main thoroughfares and shutting down the cities sky train system are the most likely cards to be played in tomorrow’s showdown.

Prime Minister Abhisit has now called for talks with the red shirts leadership on at least two occasions, both of which have been vehemently denounced from the stage at the main demonstration in central Bangkok – an amicable solution looks increasingly unlikely.

Within a democratic system the prize of protest is dialogue. This has been rejected by the red movement and could prove to be terminal to the group’s future. Participation in a process could have cemented the way for possible alliances with more minor parties in the coalition. In Democratic terms, changing the balance of power by these means has more weight when compared to a rushed stick-em-up job, which could end in tragedy.

As the history of revolution has clearly shown, disposing of the status-quo is a business in which idealistic intentions quickly become dogma. The political freedom that opposition grants dissolves frantically into a despotic and dangerous mirror image of what came before; like Siamese twins, inseparable in terms of action. The red shirts refusal to speak to the government may come back to bite them if violence takes centre stage tomorrow.

There is a fine line between agitation and violence, likewise democratic means and undemocratic means; therefore for the UDD to remain a credible political force they need to tilt their heads towards the past and learn form the succinct lessons that history has to offer.

BANGKOK - THURDAY 18TH MARCH

The United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship’s offensive on Thailand’s capital Bangkok looks to be entering it’s twilight hours as thousands of supporters make their way home, weather beaten and hungry.

Paradoxically, security levels have been beefed up in response to alleged CIA intelligence concerning a ‘hardcore’ element within the movement bend on stirring violent unrest. Security authorities in Bangkok claim to have cause for concern as possible acts of ‘sabotage’ are planned around the city. The U.S government vehemently denies these claims. Deputy Prime Minister Southep Thughuban commented yesterday stating, ‘If these attacks take place it would have a devastating impact.’

Numbers at the protest have fallen from a peak of around 100,000 on Sunday, to about 15,000 yesterday morning according to Bangkok Post estimates. The UDD leadership acknowledged the dwindling numbers but remain defiant saying fresh reinforcements will soon arrive from other provinces. Ousted Prime Minister Thaskin Sinnawatra called for all within the movement to keep up the pressure on the government: ‘We have to maintain our strength” he said via video link yesterday. Reports say he is presently in Montenegro. Despite this hard talk, investigators on the ground said that the majority of red shirts would be on their home by Friday.

Yesterday Prime Minister Abhisit reiterated his wish to hold talks with the UDD leadership to discuss the situation, although he refuses outright to dissolve Thailand’s lower parliament.

Mike

Whose Blood do The Red Shirts Have on Their Hands? - Their Own of Course

All morning specially set up blood donation points have been extracting claret from the arms of red shirt protesters in central Bangkok Thousands are queuing to have their vein spiked in the name of democracy. The blood will be thrown around the entrances to government buildings at 3pm this afternoon, in a symbolic act akin to scene from a Sam Raimi movie.

The political significance of this move has to be questioned. Yes I agree, a point is being made, but with the clock ticking and peoples’ patience on both sides wavering, could efforts be used more effectively to achieve the movement’s main aim? – Dissolution of the lower parliament resulting in subsequent snap election.

The last few days have seen the red shirts frustrations grow with Prime Minister Abhisit brushing away their ultimatum with typical Ox-Bridge nonchalance. The message is clear: this government is not for budging.

Aside from the obvious health risks associated with throwing blood around in central Bangkok (in a country with a high aids rate), one has to wonder what tangible political gains will result from all this mayhem?

This sadomasochistic act certainly is a graphic and original show of defiance, but its measurable political impact remains to be seen. After all, Prime Minsiter Abhisit’s government is highly unlikely to change their mind and dissolve the parliament as a result.

The balance of power seems to be slipping away from a red movement that is visibly running out of steam and resorting to seemingly more desperate measures to bolster their campaign.

Fellow Thai blogger Somtow Sucharitkul summed up the situation perfectly with this masterstroke of close reasoning. ‘I suppose that the red shirts' other measures, such as breaking a pot in front of the statue of King Taksin, calling down a curse on the government, throwing plastic bags of rotten fish, and having the ex-PM descend through the airwaves from a place variously described as Germany, Cambodia, and Montenegro, have not worked. They were all very imaginative methods of bringing about political change, but when you have the all the resources of witchcraft and the supernatural at your disposal, why stoop to such mundane devices as, for instance, lobbying one of the smaller parties to switch sides so as to shift the balance of power?’

The question is how much longer is the collective ‘jai yen yen’(Thai phrase – ‘Have a cool heart.’) going to last before all hell breaks loose, and the streets of Bangkok are once again dripping with blood – this time non-consensually.

Mike

Bangkok Dangerous - Maybe Not After All.

It seems that the sea of red expected in Bangkok is more of a medium size estuary. Having said that, tributaries are still flowing steadily from the source, and by tonight who knows how grand the spectacle will be. On Friday red shirt officials had expected 1,000,000 protesters to fill the capital’s streets, but presently, this looks highly unlikely. More realistic estimates lie around the 200,000 mark; sizable, yes; capable of forcing the dissolution of the lower parliament, I think not.

What could be the reason for this massive underestimation of people power? It could be the reduction in ‘expenses’ paid to the movement for travel costs. As in any country political influence does not come without considerable expense; Thailand is no exception. A handful of cash, a red t-shirt, and a plastic clapper can arguably buy you a political activist for the day, with whole villages seemingly reveling a collective sense of purpose.

From a Western perspective this practice is questionable, but with the majority of the reds shirts support coming from the abstractly poor North East, it can be excused. This is political expediency Thai Style.

The movement’s grievances have been exacerbated in the last two years by a government that has openly questioned the reds intellectual prowess, and thus, political credibility. Crass arrogance such as this is a major issue in a county where face, or the loss of it, is everything. But, as an objective observer it takes some effort to swerve around this cash for protest politics.

Somtow Sucharitkul, an noteworthy Thai blogger based in Bangkok (http://www.somtow.org/) has this to say: ‘What I am sure about it that my housekeeper told me that according to her sources upcountry the fee for protesting is 500 baht, minus 300 which must be paid to an agent. The newspapers printed that it was 1,500 and that people were objecting to how little money they were getting to protest compared to last time. If it's 500 a day for 3 days, I guess the figures match. My housekeeper said, "My village isn't coming to the protests. They're not getting enough money, and last time it was too hot and it wasn't what we were expecting.’

What ever your opinion a fine line exists between poverty and political exploitation, especially when an aggressive propaganda machine promises imminent wealth to those adorned with a red t-shirt. It would be too cynical to doubt red shirt sincerity entirely, but in the developing world a little money can go a long way.

Mike

Colourful Times in Thailand

September 19, 2006 feels like only yesterday. I was coerced out of a bar in Bangkok’s Sukhumvit district by menacing men dressed in kaki, declaring Marshall Law from loud speakers, as Vaxhall Tanks rolled insidiously down the road in front of me. On this day, Thailand’s Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was ousted from government, and sent packing to a life lived outside Thai borders. Thankfully I made it back to my bedsit unharmed that evening, albeit with the odious sent of violence in the air and a feeling in my stomach, that to this day, I can’t quite put into words. That day in October the ‘yellow shirts’ over threw the government, and ushered in the new age of colour politics.

Today, the dark undercurrents of political violence are threatening again, casting up reminiscent shadows that are all too familiar. A mass anti-government demonstration is to be held in Thailand’s capital at the weekend, and with Thailand’s record of violence at such events, the situation has the potential to explode.

The demonstration at the weekend is being held by the UDD.

Clad in red t-shirts, the UDD movement (The National United Front of Democracy Against Dictatorship), support the former prime Thaksin Shinawatra. (Bizarrely involved in Cambodian policy making at present)

The ‘red shirts’ as they are colloquially know, have a highly organized (and financed) grassroots movement based mainly in the heavily populated north east of the country. They are a self-styled party of the poor, and claim to have purer democratic intentions that the current government. The movement denounces Prime Minister Abhisit (leader of the Democratic Party), claming he and his party took power 'illegitimately', backed by the Thai army and bureaucrats. It calls for the Thai Parliament to be dissolved and a general re-election to be held. The ‘reds’ speak openly about their non-violent nature of their activities and discourse, and have a highly active propaganda machine; including a television station that pumps out the party message on a loop. Daily, I walk past road-side houses which have large televisions, hooked up to bass bins; in front a sea of red shirts sit crossed legged, drinking whisky, eating snacks, glued to the images ahead.

An armchair analysis of the situation will conclude that the ‘reds’ still lack vital inspirational/visionary leadership. They lack charisma at the top, and this could prove to be their undoing. The era of Thaksin as a tangible political force within the democratic system is undoubtedly over; and, if the ‘reds’ are going to advance within a democratic framework, they need to solve this problem. It seems clear that the way forward for the UDD, is to compact their deep and far reaching support base, and form into an independent labour party. This way they would have a clear vision, instead as acting as the ‘hired hands of a corrupt politician,’ as one writer succinctly put it in the Bangkok Post this week.

After examining the UDD’s six party principles, there is little that any Thai would disagree with: establishing a true democracy with HM the King as head if state; overthrowing the bureaucratic system; acting in a strictly non-violent manner; establishing justice and the rule of law; improving the economic well-being of all people; and bring back the 1997 constitution.


It can be stated unequivocally, that the ‘reds’ have not only a democratic right to protest, but a good reason for voicing their grievances in the current political climate. In recent times, leaving aside last months liquidation of 1.2 Billion Dollars worth of Thaksin’s assets by the central government, there have been a number of economic blunders that deserve a more attention than a raised eyebrow: For instance, the GT200 bomb detectors, bought from a British company last year, have been proven ineffective in finding explosives in Thailand’s war-torn southern regions. Prime Minister Abhisit has spoken out against this purchase by the military, criticizing the top-brass, referring to the GT200’s as ‘useless.’ But, even in the face of scientific fact, and ministerial abhorrence, Army commander-in-chief Anupong Paojinda is defiant. Contrast this situation with the 350 million Baht ‘Sky Dragon’, the world first counter-insurgency blimp. The military are now in doubt to whether it is capable of flight. These two issues have compounded anti-government sentiment.

These issues have caused embarrassment in full view front of the medias watchful eye, but worryingly for Thailand, there have been many other such crippling misadventures with the public wallet.

Two wasteful episodes on their own are worth shouting about, and provide the ‘reds’ with a legitimate focus outside the arena of Thaskin worship. The ‘red’ leaders have called for justice on these issues, stating that those responsible should be brought to account, and righty so.

This situation leads me to some contradictions concerning the ‘red’ movement and their fight:

In their six party principles the UDD state firmly that they want justice and a rule of law, yet call the judicial system bias in the recent Thaskin liquidation case even though it previously acquitted Thaskin himself, his ex-wife, and five of Thaksin’s cabinet ministers on another charge Now, these don’t sounds like pre-determined judgments considering the seriousness of the latter changers and the equital that followed. Surely any bias system would have brought the heavy hand of the law down hard at this stage of the proceedings? Is the ‘red’ movement interested in true democratic justice, or some kind diluted ‘red’ justice.

Also, stated in the UDD’s six party principles was the avocation of non-violence. Now, one only has to cast one’s mind back to last years Asean Summit in Pattaya when a sea of red shirts attacked Prime Minister Abhisit’s car at the interior ministry. This stands in stark contrast to the movement’s claims to non-violence. And, with the fiery rhetoric being lambasted from the ‘reds’ leadership over the last few months, few would be surprised if events at the weekend turned sour.

The events in Bangkok at the weekend will be watches closely by many around there world. It is sincerely hoped that violence will not spoil the political aspirations of a movement that has built up a legitimate voice in Thailand, and has a realistic future within a democratic framework.


Mike

Alone With Thought

A man with a blank expression sits on a rock. He watches in silence as the early morning mist begins to lift within the temple grounds. A horizontal line marks the underbelly of the mass of moisture. It moves slowly upward, as if pulled by a giant magnet in the sky. Day break signals the end of the battle between darkness and light. At sundown darkness is the victor, at daybreak light prevails.

He looks on in awe as the surrounding area is illuminated with a luxurious pastel hue: the horizon is shaded with a beautiful softness. Roosters signal the day’s arrival with their trademark throat clearing, cutting through the still air like a knife through damp clay.

He raises his notepad horizontally to his forehead, enabling him to avert the sun glare. In the distance, a Buddhist temple sits quietly below a hill, patiently waiting for the day to unfold. He is fascinated by the intricate patterns of light that are reflecting from the stained glass, casting spells of timeless beauty. As he walks slowly down a manicured lawn, the smell of Orchids drifts delicately in the breeze. Bees and butterflies appear from nowhere, aroused by the sensual smell perfuming the air.

At the far end of the lawn, a small path takes its place. Here, stray dogs cast watery eyed glances at his cautious movements. They pant mechanically, in a futile struggle against the elements. Their efforts are in vain. The man unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt as the cold morning air retreats, leaving only a memory in its wake.

The path meanders past giant green shrubs and delicate flowers until it reaches a small wooden bridge. Perspiration trickles down the man’s back, creating a wet patch on his shirt. Ornately carved teak doors become visible to one side, their tearful departure from the shadows now complete. The man raises an eye brow impressed with the intricacy of the design.

He passes a wonderful golden archway that stoops down as if attempting to kiss the ground. Its physical beauty electrifies his imagination.

Everywhere he looks pinks and purples, reds and greens, mauves and yellows, compete as if in a beauty pageant. Natural selection is their make-up artist. The man’s stony demeanor is broken; he breaks into a smile. Two coconut trees sway like drunkards; between them a red hammock is stretched.

As the sun begins to assert itself, the man sits on the grass. Monks chant. The monosyllables are powerful and engage him. His attention is drawn upwards. Birds begin to sing, their mouths controlled by invisible thread. Melodious softness covers everything like a sea mist, momentarily sight and sounds melt into one.

A butterfly floats seductively like a silver feather and lands on an Orchid. It rests. Tentatively, slowly, and with great effort, the wings come back to life as he watches. It flies out of sight.

He stands up and brushes the dry grass from his shorts and back. Dry leaves crackle under his feet causing an unprecedented commotion. Panicking lizards retreat to a safe haven somewhere in the thick undergrowth.

The path comes to an abrupt end. Humble monastic dwellings hug the walled perimeter. In front of the huts he observes freshly washed orange robes sway leisurely to nature’s rhythm. To the left of the huts gawky chickens play medieval games of joust, baking under the white-hot plate in the sky. Their movements, like those of martial arts masters, deftly move between placidity and aggression. A cloud of dust forms above them. The man covers his eyes and tries not to breath.

Everywhere he gazes, symbols jump out at him: Brave stallions stand on hind legs, their expression that of utter fearlessness. Elephants raise trunks triumphantly, as if trumpeting in a new dawn in human understanding. Ancient Papal trees dressed luxuriously in brightly coloured silks, ward off evil spirits. His head spins wildly contemplating the meaning of it all.

An open expanse of sun-burnt grass leads him to a lone pineapple bush. Its isolation compounded by the barrenness of its immediate surroundings. On its own, like the robed men who eat its fruit, it lives out life without complaint. He exhales this thought, and breaths it in again: it resonates deep within him.

In the distance he sees, a shimmering golden spire peeping out of the dense jungle, pointing upwards towards the cloudless sky. The jungle intimidates him: ever encroaching. During daylight hours it gives off a silent, but intense energy. At nighttime it reverberates, teaming with life.

The sun slowly, but steadily climbs. The temperature accompanies this assent and pounds the man with wave upon wave of stultifying heat. He begins to tire.

With this his journey ends. A shady patch of grass silently commands his attention. Here he walks, dragging his feet on the gravel, listening to sound.

Mike

Flashes from a life that is.

Jeff’s house was of the modest kind, nestled at the foot of a large hill amongst mature palm fruit trees. Every morning he walked through the dense vegetation, until he came to a small winding path that led to a magnificent natural lake, surrounded by pristine jungle. Here he strolled and thought about how beautifully simplistic life was. He walked over armies of ants that striped the path like pieces of black wedding ribbon, and was amazed by the sight of wild pigs and giant preying mantis. At the waters edge he felt free. He looked at his reflection in the water and saw a man that had found meaning in life. He was experiencing each sensation and savoring it. Every shade of green and flash of sunlight through the jungles thick canopy fascinated him. He was on auto pilot navigating his way through life’s beautiful meanders, absorbing it all with long slow strides; enjoying the spaciousness and sweet music of the jungle.

Jeff sat silently on his veranda at an ornate teak Sino-Portuguese table.. He watched as the sky turned a wonderful light blue. Grey and white wisps of cloud inched their way towards an unknown destination; a journey without a beginning or an end. Simultaneously, people, animals and plants breathed a sigh of relief, as the days suffocating heat began to subside. It was like a prayer had been answered. The early evening shadows began to lengthen on the rust coloured slopes of the mountain, making intricate black patterns on the dark red clay, like a traditional Chinese paper cutting. The Palm trees swayed flirtatiously in the soothing late afternoon breeze, and the crystal clear stream in front of the house trickled effortlessly. As the daylight continued to fade, a breathless dusk grew ever closer.

After a short drive the first of the encroaching out-of-town retail park became visible. The bright lights and clean cut interiors, made Jeff feel uneasy. There were too many people there: The Nuevo rich posed, students hunted in packs, and everyone else looked dazzled by the wonders of corporate America. Necessity brought Jeff to shop here, and he usually left as quickly as he came in. He knew it was melodramatic, but somehow he felt partly responsible for the whole vile circus show. His white skin made him guilty by association - a tacit consenter – a pawn in the corporate conspiracy.

The intercom sounded clear and direct: “Home-Pro’s Homecard – A card for lovers.” Shelves were stacked thirty feet up with all manner of DIY conveniences, and home improvement products, all promising the consumer a piece of happiness. Jeff walked down the power tool isle, his hands in his pockets; he wondered how the mountains of stock would ever be sold. As he pondered the thought he overheard two suited men talking in the Bathroom section. One of them had a beard and was sweating profusely. He seemed on edge to Jeff. He began to speak feverishly to the other man.

“To cash in on this particular bonanza, one has to live and breath the image of the ideal home – Picture this: A mother stands in her modern kitchen, fully equipped with time saving time devises, mahogany paneling and marble worktops; her bright eyed twins skip into the room, singing a sweet lullaby, brimming with youthful innocence; the father of the household sits on a wicker chair in the corner reading a newspaper, he nods in simple recognition, fully aware that his parenting skills are an example to all,”
His colleague stared at the floor. He exhaled deeply and said with a beaming smile. “This is without a doubt the Home-Pro family. It’s simple, offer people a dream. Let them get lost in the mediated environment, breath in the offers of the day, the mood lighting and the canned relaxation music – emancipate themselves from the painful reality of their own family – another future is possible - for a price.”

The two men retained straight faces thought out the conversation. Jeff’s stomach churned.

“Perhaps I can buy my way out of all this,” thought Jeff sardonically. He was only there to buy a light bulb, but already the situation was getting to him. He came to the island four years ago, fell in love and never left. Now the girl was gone and he was alone with his thoughts. When he was young he always imagined himself repeating the life of those around him – fulfilling cultural expectations like paying tax and going to church, but life for Jeff was very different. His time was his own and he used is wisely: he read and painted vivaciously, hungry for knowledge, on a never ending pursuit to entangle the mysteries of life. A gallery in the city had been exhibiting his work for seven months – he had a handful of sales. His agent talked incessantly of New York connections and the big time; Jeff simply smiled at this talk. Even if it was true, he knew that the limelight was not for him.

On the floor, workers in bright orange aprons competed for his attention. Commission was to be had, and Jeff was visible on the store radar. The blasts of air-conditioning, mixed uneasily with the humidity, giving him hot flushes like woman ten weeks gone. It seemed as if the staff were being controlled automatically: perhaps concealed above the ceiling was a nerve centre where every staff movement was planned in advance, then robotically follow for the duration of the shift. Jeff noticed the banal elevator music, its velvety smooth time signatures, numbing him into a false sense of relaxation. The intercom rang out once more. “Home-Pro discount card. The one way ticket to happiness for everything in your home.” For a moment, Jeff felt half convinced, as the employees swayed rhythmically, waiting to pounce, with their orange aprons glowing like cigarettes in the darkness. Jeff turned round, dazed by the entire experience, to find a worker smiling and ushering him to the lighting isle. “You like hear special price sir?” Jeff smiled and excused himself, safe in the knowledge that his delicious consumer bones were not for the picking. He inhaled the air deeply like a smoker having his first draw of the day, turned around, and walked out of the store.

Mike

Morning in Ao Nang.

Ao Nang.

Day one:

Rolled out of bed at 10am with a mild hangover. Nothing terminal. Had a superb breakfast of fresh orange juice, toast, fried rice, and coffee over looking the emerald green ocean. My heart went out to the sophisticated Germans who sat stiff and upright, at the opposite table. I was aware of their awareness. I breathed deeply the sea air. I was hungry. Have they never seen a man eating aggressively before? Does this not happen in the Munich beers halls? Anyway, eating like a man who just located his desert mirage, I soldiered on; appetite dangerously out of control on a beachfront table. Gluttonously, I filled my plate for the third time and strolled triumphantly past their beady stares, feeling like a medieval king covered in banqueting grease. Anyway, spotty teenagers can eat like a pig, and so can street drinkers for that matter, so why can't I? I hold my hands up; guilty as charged officer: I am a food lover, not a fighter - Bite me.

With breakfast hundred per cent swallowed, fifty per cent chewed, and zero per cent digested, it was prime time for a dip in the crystal clear pool.

At this point, the reader may be pondering why one would swim in a pool when twenty metres away is the wondrous Andaman Sea? The answer can be expressed in one simple word - monsoon.

The tidal surges at this time of year are as unstable as an alcoholic on a tightrope. One minute you are playing in a rubber ring, the next screaming at dots on the horizon.

Scores of well fed, sun burnt, white folk, lose their lives every year on these sun kissed shores. Their belligerent defiance of local advice costs them dear; sucked out as easily as a message in a bottle. The crystal clear waters hold dark secrets at this time of year; secret fables, not worth pursuing, and secret games, not worth playing. Beware

Mike

Afternoon in Kathu

The rumble in my stomach has the quality of distant thunder and lets me know that it's around 2 pm. Eating patterns provide me with a practical and reliable alarm clock - one that relies on rice, not batteries.

Sometimes my insides can feel like they are brawling, an internal struggle for energy sources; a fight to the death - acids vs. enzymes.

At this point the mind gives up on many levels, and concentration gives way to a blinkered one way street, with a vender selling fried dumplings and bbq chicken visible at the end.

Images pour in to the mind like an intense light source; smiling faces smeared in meat juices and sticky fingers lifting delicious pieces of spiced pork, delivering them to their salivating resting place.

The day is long and bright, but for once the shining beacon in the sky is not burning white.

Monsoon weather has it's benefits. Humidity and suffocating heat are not present today.

The world looks like a different place.

I can look out into the distance without a painful squint, and can feel fresh in mid afternoon without the need for a paralytic nap.

This is a good time to be productive - no time to rest.

Productivity is not a given in Thailand; the climate does not always permit free flowing activity. Like a fisherman, you have to pick the correct moment and move fast, no stalling or the moment will pass.

As the evening draws ever closer people start coming out of buildings, like ants between the cracks of concrete, their motorbikes groan and then howl, as they make their way to their destinations.

Even with a forest of black clouds in the sky the locals wrap their bodies in clothing, afraid of it's relentless UV assault.

This lesson is ignored by the blossom faced tourists who ride bare-chested, oblivious to the damage to their skin, on an insatiable quest for temporarily darkened skin.

Vanity squares up and eyeballs cancer.

Only one can be the victor in this battle.

Eat where the locals eat and do what the locals do if you are serious about staying in an alien place for long.

Take heed and learn their lessons. Be open to things that you initially disreguard as nonsense - Hold back your pride and embrace the unknown.

It's time to leave the world of words on a blog level and assert myself within the classroom.

Teaching English is a rewarding and challenging job. One in which you will never know it all.

For that, I am thankful.

In the immortal words of Confusious, "A great teacher is always learning."

Time for class.

Mike