Constructive Criticism

Often we thought that by criticizing someone so openly, without any cushion to help the one on the receiving end to absorb the pang of heartache, that we are actually doing the person a good deed. We thought that it’s better to be truthful rather than doing it in a very subtle way, and the way we deliver it just doesn’t really weigh anything. To be frank, you are not doing anyone any good. If nothing else, you are actually chasing people away from you.

More often than not, we always pride ourselves for delivering whatever news, good or bad, to a person as truthfully and as straight forward as can be. But has it occur to you that if you were the one receiving it, how would you feel? What if someone were to criticize you so bluntly and in the open, how would you handle it?

I came across an article in the Women’s Weekly November 2011 issue about criticism. Right on time when I was desperate to look for something to heal my ‘wound’. Apparently there are two types. 1. Destructive Criticism and 2. Constructive Criticism. Let’s just highlight Constructive Criticism, as we in the subject of being positive.

There are 7 guides to make a criticism constructive:

1.       Start with something positive

Tell the person something good about their performance before you put in the ‘but’. It will help them accept your criticism and they will not feel like a failure.

2.       Use tact

Telling someone the truth doesn’t mean you have to be hurtful. Soften the criticism by saying something like, “It’s an easy mistake to make.”

3.       Focus on the behavior

Constructive criticism is about telling someone how he or she can do something better, not telling him or her they’re hopeless.

4.       Choose time and place

Never criticize in public, or when someone is too tired or upset to deal with it appropriately. Find a quiet place where you can discuss the issues and work on a plan to improve the situation.

5.       Give direction

If you criticize without offering an alternative suggestion, you make it difficult for the person to know how to change his behavior. For example, rather than saying, “I can’t stand your loud music,” you might try, “I find loud music disturbing. Could you turn it down, please.”

6.       Don’t harp

Nobody likes someone who points out every minor breach. Save the criticism for important issues.

7.       Try to end on a positive note

If you can, and if it’s appropriate, let them know how you feel about them.

It was a very good article and it really helped me to come to term with how I’ve been feeling this couple of days as it also discussed ways to handle criticism. Maybe I could write about that in my next post.

The Language Dilemma

"Learning to speak another's language means taking one's place in the human community.  It means reaching out to others across cultural and linguistic boundaries.  Language is far more than a system to be explained.  It is our most important link to the world around us.  Language is culture in motion.  It is people interacting with people."

    Sandra Savignon  Communicative Competence: Theory  and Classroom Practice.   

             Reading, MA Addison Wesley, 1983, p. 187 .

English has been the most integral language to be acquired by the young generation if success is what they aim for their future. Unfortunately, this view is not shared by the nation’s intellectual society. They have been arguing, protesting or even worse, demanding for the national language to be preserved. The question is, does learning and acquiring other language, English, or even Mandarin for that matter, make you any less Malay?

When Malaysia declared that it would introduce ETeMS (English for Teaching Mathematics and Science) in 2003, the news received a whole kaleidoscope of emotions and perceptions. Some people embraced this really well but many thought it was the end of the national language. Without weighing the idea or even giving it a chance, these people outwardly thwarted the idea as something ludicrous and that we should uphold the national language instead, that we should look at countries like Japan, Korea, France, etc that survive the world without even acquiring the English Language. Well, one question can be asked to these people, why send their children to Chinese School, English School, International School or other schools that use English or other language as the main language for communication? Is it not because they want their children to be better equipped to compete in the employment market? It is a wonder if their thoughts are for the sake of the generation’s future or do they have a different set of rules for themselves. One more question that can be asked is, by comparing Malaysia to the industrial giants like Japan, Korea, etc, are we admitting that we are on par with them? Go figure.

I feel obliged to address this matter for I thought the students (mostly Malays) nowadays have been injected with so many propaganda against English Language that they do not feel the urge to improve themselves anymore. Now that ETeMS has been abolished, they have been fed with so many notions that they could survive monolingual. Apparently the intellectual society only have issue with the English Language and not other languages, for instance, Arabic, Mandarin – the languages offered in most schools nowadays. Why do we need to learn Arabic? Why do we need to learn Mandarin?

Malaysians are not unfamiliar with the concept of being bilingual. Most ethnics would at least know two languages. One being their mother tongue and the other, Bahasa Melayu. When they learn English then they would be trilingual. Now where does that leave the Malay students? They barely know their own language for they are so engrossed with their regional dialects. By not acquiring any extra language, how do they think they would fare in the job market? Compared to other ethnics, the Malays are likely to fall behind because they keep thinking that they could survive with mediocre Bahasa Melayu. Well, someone needs to knock some senses into their thick skulls. Arrogant notions like that should be addressed immediately for they are in the danger of losing their country. It is bad enough that they are pampered since young through so many privileges given by the government.

It is time we realise what benefit English could bring to our society. Language, or education for that matter should not be politicised. At least treat English as a language, just like Mandarin, French, or Japanese, that would enrich us as civilised people, if nothing else. 

The Help

I didn’t expect this to happen to me. I sat in this empty 8 by 10 foot room, looking broodingly at the splinter of sunlight streaming through the minute barred window. The standard issue fleece blanket did nothing to chase the cold away from this cement floor.

My life was going pretty smoothly until that day. I went into the house. Everything looked normal. Nothing was out of place. The electroconvulsive therapy seemed to be working better than the lithium prescribed by my therapist. I padded to the dimly lit state-of-the-art kitchen. Had a gulp of the refrigerated OJ, straight from the carton. Refreshing. Somehow I could feel the eerie quietness at the back of my neck. I shrugged off the feeling. “”It’s my house.” I muttered to myself and slowly climbed the glass stairs. Pretty much everything in this house was made of glass. The stairs, most parts of the walls, dining table, everything was glass. “That was not there this morning, or was it?” There was a huge scratch on the banister. Curious.

The scratch didn’t just end there. There was another scratch and a gaping hole on the floor. “What caused it?” my mind was racing to conjure the memory of yesterday or this morning even. Nothing. Absolute nothing displayed in my mind. I slowly treaded around the gaping hole to the room. Something smelled.

I was visited by my attorney today. Things were not looking up in my case. The trial would start a week from today. Next week. That was as far a future as I could fathom. No one could guarantee my wellbeing after that. Even I couldn’t.

The room reeked of something. It was so bad that I instantly gagged. In between retches, I ran to the window. That’s when I saw the source of the stench. A heap of body bag lay on the cream carpet. It looked heavy. The surrounding area of the bag was filthy brown and sticky. I darted out of the room, grabbed my blackberry and speed dialed my manager. The moment that annoying ringtone was heard in the room, particularly from inside the body bag, I knew something was wrong.

“You just don’t get it, do you? It’s over!” That was the first time I heard him yelled at me. His voice was coarse due to the amount of shouting and screaming he threw at me.

“It can’t be over! It was just a glitch, I know, we could still buy some time. I could finish the blueprint in two days.” I panicked.

“No! That’s it. You know for a fact that our lives depend on this. We are toast! I’ve been trying to help you and now I know that you are beyond help. I’m out of here! You’re on your own.” he started to storm out of the room.

Sitting in the courtroom, wearing the only decent suit I had left, I waited patiently for the trial to begin. The Supreme Judge looked intimidating with his white wig and long black robe. I was waiting for my fate. Fate that was beyond my control. Fate that was looking as bleak as the weather outside. Somehow I knew what the verdict would be. This would be the end of me. This was it. This might be the last day for me to be out in the open, to watch the rain, to see the green field or to smell the aroma of the freshly cut grass. I looked at my attorney who looked grimmer and grimmer as the time past.

I heard the commotion outside the courtroom. It was getting louder and louder as the crowd gained momentum. I heard the door banged and everyone turned around. The room was chaotic. The judge was banging his gavel, calling the court back to order. I sat there nonchalantly. I knew my last savior was in the room. My attorney had a look of relief on his face. I could even see a slight upturned smile that he was famous for plastered on his face. I knew things were definitely looking up now. I knew who just barged into the room. My therapist. My last resort. My savior. My accomplice. This definitely would not be the end of me. I smiled.

I grabbed a candelabra which conveniently stood within my grasp and knocked hard on his nape. He stumbled forward. I was in trance. It felt like there was an inner strength in me that I had never registered before. I hit him again and again with the brass candelabra as he struggled to escape. When he reached the stairs, I summoned all my strength and flung the bent candelabra. It hit his head first then fell on the floor, leaving a gaping hole. I saw him toppled down the stairs. After a sick thud, he lay quietly on the landing. His body was twisted oddly and then I knew he was gone. I silently contemplated the next course of action. Dan, my therapist used to say that I could call him whenever I needed him. I needed him now. He came, he saw, he acted, he solved my problem. 

A Thought About Life

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

It has been a while since I had last written out my thoughts that would resemble anything of value. Yet, tonight, the itch in my fingers gets so unbearable. Thus I decide to write (or rather, type) something  just to ease the aforementioned itch.

So what should i address tonight? I asked myself. Should I talk about what other people are so keen on talking about? i.e: other people’s flaws? Or should i be a bit sublime and talk about something good in someone for a change. I am going to do neither as I opt to talk about how I feel about myself. I’m not sure if that is good or bad, or just plain dim-witted. Here goes...

I’ve been in the workforce for 11 years now. For some people it is quite a sufficient time to land themselves a better position. Me? I’m still a lowly person working as an educator. A normal one. Not someone who has any say in anything. Still, I love my work because I think my job allows me to help the kids and have fun in the process. I love my students. I love my job. There’s nothing wrong in being a normal ‘educator’. I would be the happiest when i see a child performs outstandingly in his/her exam. I would also be the one who shed a bucket of tears (or get outrageously cross) if he/she doesn’t make the grade. Life. What can i say. Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down. There are times when i get so pitifully sad over some things that are totally beyond my control. Yet when i am in the class, seeing these eager faces making all sorts of mayhem, i feel better. They are the balm for my sore heart. I never  stop counting my blessings for having a whole bunch of wonderful people who make life and all the disappointments it brings a bearable one.

It saddens me when people look down on the profession. I wonder why they have such a horrid perception about our breed. Aren’t we the ones who painstakingly help their child to be better equipped to face this unforgiving world? Aren’t we the ones who have given up weekends, endless nights and most deserved down time (especially when major exams are approaching at the speed of light) just to ensure their child gets everything he/she desperately needs to excel? I don’t really expect them to feel grateful, but a tiny little ‘thank you’ goes a long... long... way. Nevertheless, I still think there’s hope yet. I think there are people out there (whom I don’t know) still think what we do is noble.

My children are the ones whom I treasure the most. Even when I’m back from work at 6pm, they would be at  the front door, beaming, patiently waiting for me to get in the house. Since the youngest couldn’t talk yet because she’s only a baby, the big sister would eagerly relate to me her greatest exploit of the day. How she had lost her stinky ‘fishie’ and found it (time and time again). How she drove my mother up the wall with her mischief. I would receive a full report (a full version of what my children had done that day) from my loving and not to mention exhausted mother. Sitting tiredly at the sofa, I would listen to her ranting about my eldest daughter, the pixie little child. I feel sorry for my mother for having to put up with my children but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She wants her grandchildren to be with her 24/7. That was the most fortunate arrangement for me as I will be able to go to work without having to think about my children’s wellbeing. We could see so many horrible news about children at the day care or while they are in the care of the babysitters. Cold shiver runs up my spine when I see the news on the telly. Thank GOD for letting my mother be as fit as she is to look after my children when I’m away at work. Thank You Mak... for being there for me... you have always been a hero for me.

I know that my life is, well, as it is. I should be grateful as I have a contingent of support system to cushion me when I fall. All the troubles in the world won’t matter for I have something and someone to fall back on. I have my job, which I really love. I have my students, whom I really adore. I have my friends, who are always with me through thick or thin. Lastly and most importantly, I have my family, without them, I would be drifting in this turbulent world.. for they are, forever more, my anchor.

Forbidden

It was one of those mundane days. There was nothing much to do except cleaning the house. Yet I neither had the energy nor the patience to do it. So I lay on the sofa, channel hopping. The sun was penetrating its’ golden hue through the glass blocks on the wall, making myriads of beautiful colours on my black and white checkered rug on the floor. The house was still quiet. Everybody was still asleep. It’s Sunday, after all.  

I was staring uninterestedly at the television when the phone rang. I glanced at it and was rewarded with the most pleasant surprise. He called. I was glad for the interruption.

“Let’s meet.” He said.

“Okay, where?” I couldn’t stop smiling. He wanted to see me.

“I’ll let you know when I get there.” He hung up. We didn’t normally talk for a long time. Our conversation would only revolve around asking each other’s wellbeing and whereabouts. That was probably because we both had commitments. He had his and so did I.

I got up and slowly padded to the bedroom.  It was relatively small. The only place where I knew would be in pristine order. Everything had to be at exactly the right place. I would know if something was misplaced. The bed was neatly piled with assorted pillows and bolsters. The soft turquoise bed sheet was fresh. I just changed it. The quilt cover was the matching colour and material. 100% cotton. It’s my sanctuary. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my wardrobe. “What should I wear?”  I couldn’t seem to stop smiling since that phone call. It had been years since I had this wonderful girly feeling.

The anticipation of the first date made my skin tingle with excitement. Yet I couldn’t brush away the nervousness. What if he saw me and fled the scene before I had the chance to look at his face for the first time? What if he came and we talked but when he left, I couldn’t see him anymore because he decided that he didn’t like me? I tried to shrug off these negative thoughts and concentrate on choosing the best outfit. Finally I decided on the blue blouse. I read somewhere that blue is the symbol of loyalty. I chuckled. Loyalty my foot! What I was about to do was so incongruent with the definition of blue.

I took the time to leisurely shower, pampering myself with the luxurious shower cream that I had in store solely for special occasions. And this was one of those occasions. Nothing could be any more special than this. Suddenly I remembered. Who’s going to look after the kids? My children meant the world for me. The salt of the earth. I did feel a bit guilty for Sunday was supposed to be the kids’ day. I would rectify that later next week. I needed to have a down time of my own. I craved for attention too. I wanted that from him. I realised that I was threading on thin ice. But it’s the matter of the heart. My heart ruled over my brain. I brushed away all the negative vibes that my brain was sending my way.  I got ready. It felt good, getting ready for a purpose other than going to work. I felt alive again.

I was driving down the highway. We were supposed to meet at a place that we were both unfamiliar with. I wouldn’t risk getting seen. As I reached the exit, I saw his car. He was already there, waiting. So I drove on and he followed me. I had a chance to glance at him when I was driving slowly past his car. My heart skipped a beat. He was everything that I imagined he would be and more. Doubts were creeping in and trying to grip at my heart, materializing the fear that I had had earlier. I drove straight to a restaurant where I knew would be a ‘safe’ place. Not that I worried if he turned out to be a serial killer or anything. Safe, because we wouldn’t be seen in a compromising situation. I drove slowly, looking for a parking space. I found one at the end of the lane. He parked right beside me. I took my time to put my purse in my handbag. I saw he was taking his time too. As I saw him opening his car door and started to get out of the car, I got out too. We smiled. I was liking what I saw. We talked as if we had known each other for a long time.

The restaurant was not that crowded that day. We sat at the plush sofa-like chairs with the table between us. We continued talking. I couldn’t believe how easy this would be. Now that we were seated facing each other, I was able to look at him really closely. He was fair skinned. His face was clean. I liked that.  The red t-shirt and blue jeans that he wore made him look ultra attractive. Someone used to tell me, if I wanted to know if a person took hygiene seriously, all I had to do was look at his fingernails. They were cut short and clean. His trimmed, thin moustache rested above his cherry red lips. Was he a smoker? I doubted it. That’s one attribute that I love in a man. I hated smokers. They smelled funny even after they showered. One thing that I loved and found really endearing was that his ears would twitch whenever he was animatedly excited about certain things that he said. I couldn’t help smiling. If this was the perfect world, if I didn’t belong to someone else and he, too, didn’t belong to anybody, I would happily consider him to be a lifetime partner prospect. But, the world was not perfect. I belonged to someone else. He had his own family. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. I wanted him for myself.

We continued talking and eating. We sat there for nearly 2 hours, just enjoying the meal and each other’s company. Then, I made the first move. I asked him whether he wanted to leave. I had to because it was getting late. I felt guilty of luring him away from his family, even though he was the one asking me out in the first place. The look on his face was enough to tell me that he had to. Go back to his family. I had to go back to mine too. I could picture my children waiting at home. We talked a bit more in the car. My car. I could see him even closer. I tried to capture his features in my mind. I couldn’t take any photos, of course. I could get busted. He was very easy to like.

The tingle of excitement was the best one I had in years. It took the edginess from my system. The experience was out of this world. It was addictive. He was my new poison. I had the irksome weariness that he might not want to see me again but soon as my mind and my heart were debating whether I would be seeing him again, the cell phone rang. It was him, asking my whereabouts again. Absolute bliss. That was the answer I was looking for. The feeling was mutual. I would be seeing him again. This interstate relationship was going to be a hard one, but I was willing to relish it for it made me alive again.