we both are.
Maoster and I.
I don't know what or when it all went downhill but according to him, his mother tongue is English.
" I am English. I am moving to England when I am older." Maoster declared. I raised my eyebrow and rolled my eyes at Aung.
There is obviously NO fairytale ending because, part of the school's curriculumn is to be competent in Chinese language. Even if the education system will try to find a shortcut for English tongues like Maoster - his mom will NOT hear of it. I am Chinese and I speak mandarin. I believe I am bilingual and we attend the chinese congregation in our church. There is beauty and so much treasure in this language. And, I cannot stand my offspring(s), drowning in chinese and suck at it - like failing the subject (almost, close or actually!)
That's how the prison begin work - at least 3 days a week for the past 1 month, there is mandatory 60 minutes with mom. We don't do much, we only make sure he can read all the words in the textbook and honestly it is not much but it is ALOT of madness for Maoster.
The prison walls are hard and cold. The sight and sounds are not pleasant and definitely not for the faint hearted. Sometimes, visitations by family members are permitted - but they are short and swift ( and Mylo always ends up screaming and crying for he wants to be imprisoned as well).
Maoster and I both started out each session with renewed hope. It always mostly ended in a desperate need of consolation for both parties.
A common conversation will be:
" What is this word?"
"Errrr..... Is it XX? Is it XX?
" NO! Think again"
Maoster panics. My blood boils.
"Try again. Mummy have repeated this like 10 times!"
Maoster panics. His eyes widen, his hands are cold.
I raise my voice and gave the answer.
Maoster repeats the words trying hard to memorise it.
I asked again, he fails to recall the word.
I glared. I raise my voice. Tears flow.
Maoster is a prisoner of Chinese. Unless he knows and feels confidence about the language, he doesn't have the key to freedom and love for the language.
Everytime I raise my voice, I glare and especially when I see the tears flow. I become a criminal. I feel lousy, I feel guilty and my heart breaks into a million pieces.
I try to end the session with a cuddle. I cuddle my son and tells him that he is doing a good job, that he is trying his best, that it is a difficult subject. I tell him that I love him and that I am doing all that for him.
I think that cuddle is more for me. I hope it frees me - from the fact that I made him a prisoner.
Chinese criminals, we both are. We hope to be free one day.
Maoster and I.
I don't know what or when it all went downhill but according to him, his mother tongue is English.
" I am English. I am moving to England when I am older." Maoster declared. I raised my eyebrow and rolled my eyes at Aung.
There is obviously NO fairytale ending because, part of the school's curriculumn is to be competent in Chinese language. Even if the education system will try to find a shortcut for English tongues like Maoster - his mom will NOT hear of it. I am Chinese and I speak mandarin. I believe I am bilingual and we attend the chinese congregation in our church. There is beauty and so much treasure in this language. And, I cannot stand my offspring(s), drowning in chinese and suck at it - like failing the subject (almost, close or actually!)
That's how the prison begin work - at least 3 days a week for the past 1 month, there is mandatory 60 minutes with mom. We don't do much, we only make sure he can read all the words in the textbook and honestly it is not much but it is ALOT of madness for Maoster.
The prison walls are hard and cold. The sight and sounds are not pleasant and definitely not for the faint hearted. Sometimes, visitations by family members are permitted - but they are short and swift ( and Mylo always ends up screaming and crying for he wants to be imprisoned as well).
Maoster and I both started out each session with renewed hope. It always mostly ended in a desperate need of consolation for both parties.
A common conversation will be:
" What is this word?"
"Errrr..... Is it XX? Is it XX?
" NO! Think again"
Maoster panics. My blood boils.
"Try again. Mummy have repeated this like 10 times!"
Maoster panics. His eyes widen, his hands are cold.
I raise my voice and gave the answer.
Maoster repeats the words trying hard to memorise it.
I asked again, he fails to recall the word.
I glared. I raise my voice. Tears flow.
Maoster is a prisoner of Chinese. Unless he knows and feels confidence about the language, he doesn't have the key to freedom and love for the language.
Everytime I raise my voice, I glare and especially when I see the tears flow. I become a criminal. I feel lousy, I feel guilty and my heart breaks into a million pieces.
I try to end the session with a cuddle. I cuddle my son and tells him that he is doing a good job, that he is trying his best, that it is a difficult subject. I tell him that I love him and that I am doing all that for him.
I think that cuddle is more for me. I hope it frees me - from the fact that I made him a prisoner.
Chinese criminals, we both are. We hope to be free one day.
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