On Camping and Teachers:

One word to describe me today: “Ow”

I say it every time I have to lift an arm, walk or, well, breathe.Turns out camping can be quite painful… afterwards at least. I spent the best part of two days, rock climbing; belaying for a lot of others students who were rock climbing; building tents; collecting firewood and jumping off really tall things only to be plummeted to the ground by what used to be my favourite teacher.

But in actual fact, I shouldn’t and don’t really want to complain. I spent an amazing time with five of my friends in the outdoors helping a group of younger students relax and learn about dealing with exam stress. The floor was hard, the night was bitterly cold and taking on the weight of so many people has rendered my arms unable to move but I still feel fantastic and want to do it again.

I think the fact is that nothing beats the feeling you get when you (alone or as a team) do something for yourself; when you have to struggle and try and start again until you get things right. That’s how it felt when building the first tent, realizing our mistakes and then being able to assemble the rest with relative speed.  As clichéd as it sounds another unbeatable experience is sitting around a fire, mesmerised by the ominous beauty of the flames, listening to the sounds of an acoustic guitar, singing, whittling wood for marshmallows and then watching them be engulfed by flames; blowing them out, biting into them and feeling the cool spongy texture of the exterior give way to a warm, sweet goo.

I’ve never been camping before and despite the deep ache in my muscles, the inability to lift my arms above a certain height and the irresistible desire for more sleep it is an experience that I would gladly repeat and one that I am very aware, would not have happened if it weren’t for three particular teachers. Firstly Joe: the most pro guy I have ever seen. His resourcefulness and knowledge of the outdoors are so awe-inspiring that after spending only a few hours in his presence he had me volunteering to help him out on the weekends and thus learn the tricks of his trade. Secondly, Mrs S, the most kind-hearted and motherly person I have ever met. I mean I realise that there are a lot of superlatives here but they are most definitely deserved. She genuinely cares for and looks after her students to the point where she opens up her own home for her form class to eat breakfast if they’re walking past in the morning and helps us to conquer our fears. 

These are teachers that go above and beyond their call of duty; teachers to whom their students actually do mean something more than a grade or a job. Teachers, who are so passionate about their jobs that they inspire us, encourage us and believe in us no matter what the endeavour. For me this description epitomises the final teacher I need to mention, a teacher for whom I have the highest respect, whose opinion I truly care about and who I honestly never want to let down. This teacher has helped me and continues to help me to become the person I want to be; a person who is less socially awkward and more eloquent than I am even today. He has shown more faith in me than I have in myself and is sincerely interested in my wellbeing (and the well-being of all his students) rather than just seeing me as grades and statistics. This is the person who has nothing but the highest (and undeserved) praise of me when introducing me to other members of staff; the person who I sit and talk to when I feel like my exams have gone bad and the first teacher I went and spoke to last Thursday when I got my results and had actually gotten an A (in my AS level English Literature if you’re wondering). This is the teacher who told me – the shy, weird introvert –that I would change lives (something that I don’t quite believe yet), the same guy who didn’t hesitate to get funding for my attempt at getting into an American university and the one who spent months organising a camping trip for the year 11 students; buying the gear; recruiting helpers and convincing other staff that it would be a good idea. 

This is a teacher. This is a person who moulds minds and gives life-changing advice. This is the person to whom I will never be able to fully convey the gratitude I feel towards him or the extent to which he has influenced me as a person.

Bertie the Bird: Liberty and Libya

A few days ago I was standing in a classroom talking to a teacher when he pointed out that it had possibly the best view that our school has to offer. The room faces the back of our school which consists of fairly large playing fields and a wooded area that, when the weather is good, could almost be mistaken for the countryside. It’s almost like Central Park in New York – the beauteous greens and browns of nature contrasted with the ashy greys and off-whites of the buildings surrounding it.

As I was standing there marvelling at the expansive beauty of the place that I usually disregard as a litter-strewn, muddy playground for the younger years, it struck me that Bertie (the resident bird of this classroom whose cage obstructed my view slightly- it being placed right next to the windows for a prime view of the outdoors) could at that very moment be examining that same beauty and wishing that he were free to fly out of his cage and join the rest of his species out there in the vast, blue sky. I turned to look at him, surrounded by an array of plasticated items that were meant to distract him from his imprisonment, burying his head in his sleek yellow plumage, and wondered whether he ever got tired of the mirror that was supposed to trick him into thinking he had company. I wondered if he ever felt trapped.

For people, there always comes a point in life where they feel trapped. It’s inevitable, the human condition, the longing for understanding and answers that often leaves us feeling isolated. For us there are only two paths to take; firstly we could ignore the feeling, continue with life and hope for things to sort themselves out on their own. Perhaps this is what Bertie was doing -burying his head in his feathers – turning away from the view that he knew he’d never be able to experience; finding ways to deal with his reality. The alternative is to rebel. Cleanse ourselves of all the things in life that are keeping us down; blast open the door of our cage and fly, fly as fast and high as we can to put as much distance between us and what was holding us back.

This is what is happening in the Middle East at the moment. The people have seen past the bars around their lives, the bars of autocracy, to the cloudy but blue horizon that stretches out beyond it. They have realised that trapped is not the only way to be and they want out. For many of the countries so far this has worked but for Libya the most crucial accomplishment hasn’t been made; the military have not decided to side with the people. It seems that for this bird at least, freedom will only be attained by unleashing their talons, by drawing blood.

  However, the question it seems, is no longer about whether or not they will attain their liberty- this is taken as a given. The more pressing issue seems to be what it is they are pushing themselves forward to. Installing a new leader under a democratic system is by no means an easy thing – a lesson well observed from Iraq – and an unstable country could lead to even more bloodshed.

These are well-established facts that’s effects – adverse and exemplary- can be seen dating back to the French and American revolutions. Haste and impatience are not the ideal founding stones of a constitution but the problem is: how do you stop the bird that, after a lifetime of imprisonment, has finally been released from its cage? How do you slow down a progress that has long been sought after; that has been fought for and achieved at the price of the nation’s blood? How do you explain to the bird that if it doesn’t stop to think before flying off into the distance that there is a high chance that it might just smack straight into the windowpane?

Libya’s horizon seems to offer more in terms of cloud than clear skies but a cloudy freedom is arguably more desirable than secure imprisonment.

On life:

I was going to start blogging in the conventional way – introducing myself that is – but I’m pretty lame at those (as I am at these) so anyway I guess you’ll have to get to know me through my writing. Here goes:

Yesterday, I was on the bus back from the city centre at a pretty peak time of day. The only two available seats were near the front of the bus, next to an old man, and yet no-one seemed to want to sit there. Looking at the man, I myself felt slightly afraid but I didn’t quite know why.

I guess I should explain; when I say old, I mean that he was in his late eighties, if not older. His face bore the signs of his age – lined and sunken he wore the sage expression of someone who had seen it all before. To me he somewhat resembled one of those old tribesmen – grey haired and bearded but still commanding respect – still exuding some intangible sense of power that perhaps elicited  my fear.

The man sat and stared, expressionless, out of the window and in turn I sat and gazed (inconspicuously) at him. Why was I afraid of him? Why did no-one want to sit next to him? A thought finally occurred to me. The old man, with all his marks of age, represented to us our future. He was the inevitable; the reminder that youth and life are both fleeting things and that in the end we’re all headed in the same direction; those knowing eyes trapped inside a ravaged frame. No-one wanted to acknowledge this, no-one wanted to think about what happens when we grow old, no-one wanted to think they won’t be this way forever and so everyone kept their distance – as if old age is an infirmity that one of us might catch.

Thinking of this led me to reflect on the fleeting nature, not just of life, but of all things that are associated with it. I thought of the age-old cliché, all things must come to an end, and on that afternoon, sitting in that bus, nothing seemed more fitting.

 I had been in the city centre on work experience which had – that day – come to an end. It was great and something that helped me have more confidence in the fact that maybe I do have what it takes to be a journalist in the future but despite its awesomeness I did, inevitably, have to leave there. During that work experience I had done some research on a local library that was closing down in my area. The library was in a grade 2 listed Georgian Mansion and despite its worn charm and historical integrity it had, last year, been shut down. Next month it’s up for auction and it will, undoubtedly, go to the first bidder with a wad of cash and planning permission to turn it into ‘luxury apartments’ or something of the sort.

This to me seems symbolic of the nature of our lives. The years in which we’re still sprite and maintain ‘good shape’ pass by in the blink of an eye – it seems that everyone’s around us, we’re useful and popular and then suddenly – we’re not. We get older and, naturally, fall slightly into disrepair. Inwardly, we’re wiser, we’ve seen the world and store vast amounts of experience and knowledge but outwardly we’re starting to wear a bit. It’s no longer comforting to look at us – we’re a sign of what’s to come and so we’re written off, left alone – in the case of the library, auctioned off and ‘renovated’.

This is life and it happens to all of us. All that’s up for us to decide is what we do with the time we have before it gets too late to do it.  

I suppose that’s why I’m posting this. My new year’s resolution was to start a new blog but I didn’t quite get round to it. Now I’m thinking; better late than never (as is this post which was supposed to be up on Saturday).