#Katherine's class was so nice with a complete short book and out of the box practices!

[tev-the-random]

The Crystal Cliffs Academy of Wizardry is finally open, which means it’s time for me to headcanon.

> Mineralogy and Crystal Healing classes are the most popular in Crystal Cliffs due to the empire's huge natural collection of magical minerals.

- Gem is particularly knowledgeable in this field, as it is the basis of her magical studies. Surprisingly, - or perhaps not so much - Fwhip also excels in this subject, and he sometimes helps Gem with the classes.

> A class closely tied to Mineralogy is Tool Crafting. The students learn how to craft staffs and wands that can amplify, direct and purify their magic. General studies of minerals, wood properties, carving and sigil-making are applied, as well as the general handling of magic tools.

- This is another subject Fwhip likes to help with, specifically when it comes to applying technology to the craft - meanwhile, Gem knows best of the traditional crafting and magical applications of said tools.

- Pixl sometimes provides copper wires to be used in Tool Crafting. Gold sometimes is provided by Scott, while Joey offers a small supply of jungle wood.

> Sigils is another popular class, due to its sheer usefulness. Though Gem likes to keep these classes objective, she doesn't aim for mere memorisation of the symbols. Their history and properties are explained, as well as their formation, so students can create their own sigils or simplify/stylise existing ones without losing their effects.

- Shubble Shrub Berry's Forest Golems are used as a prime example of sigil carving for giving life, and although Shrub is having a hard time right now, I can see Gem asking her to bring some more of her carvings to be presented to the students in Sigils class.

- There is a whole section on most students' grimoires dedicated solely to the sigils discovered in Rivendell.

- Although material is provided for writing down sigils, it's not rare to see loads of sigils written everywhere, as students often do. On the desks, sometimes on a wall, behind tests, on any susceptible wooden structure... sometimes on cheat sheets - the headmistress doesn't allow those, though. Although Gem is very proud to see her students applying their Sigils learnings, she sometimes has to use magic to remove the symbols scattered around the school.

> Classes on Fairy Circles are sometimes available; Gem learned just how useful they can be during Xornoth's time. Lizzy, Shrub, Katherine and Gem herself give the students their own teachings on the subject.

> Lizzy's classes on Sea Magic sometimes alternate with the usual Study of Magical Beasts. Her insight on the magic of the deep ocean, oceanic structures, water-based magic and aquatic creatures is considered almost cryptic, and sometimes field trips to the Ocean Empire are scheduled to give the students a better understanding.

- There are many benefits to being a marine biologist-

> Gem dreams of being able to take her students to see dragons. Growing up amongst those creatures, she knows there's a big difference between studying Draconology in theory and actually meeting dragons.

- Although the dragons of Crystal Cliffs aren't hostile towards the students, they're not exactly cuddly either. They keep a close watch of Hope's egg and act rather territorial to strangers. The headmistress would rather not bother the ancient creatures.

> Although she was hesitant at first, Gem has classes on Dark Arts and Demonology. Less so people can practice them and more so they know how to deal with it. What happened to Sausage and Joey should not repeat itself with anyone else, and that'll be much easier to accomplish if more people know how to avoid being tricked into those things.

> People like Joey, Scott and Pixl often have tips to offer about elemental magic.

> Though a lot of the initial students in the Academy are directly invited by Gem, the school will be open for anyone who wants to enrol and learn about their magic. Some people are sent from other empires through recommendation. Some are travellers that stumbled upon the Crystal Cliffs and decided to stay. Some travel far with the intent of finding other wizards and learning more. And some, like the very first students Gem housed, came with an initial hostile intent, but ended up caught up in the wizard's business and, through some threatening hospitality, decided to abandon the bandit life and stay at the school.

> Travels to the elder Elven Library are scheduled at least once per semester. Scott doesn't mind it, and Gem thinks the vast knowledge of the old tomes are a unique learning experience she shouldn't study alone.

- Although some students are prone to trouble, the Great Wizard believes they'll be able to do great things with their knowledge. If not, then it pleases her immensely that the magical arts are being revived trough each and every one of her students, and she can see the old wizards the lived on these cliffs would be proud as well.

[shyshysmind]

the beginning of a thing

This is the beginning of a thing. It is also published here >>>>> https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/178504141/write/705655879

enjoy :)  Who am I? Your guess is as good as mine, really.Am I simply the young hardware store cashier with blue hair and long roots who sometimes wears bright red lipstick (which, by French fashion standards, is more of a warm red than a cool tone red and doesn’t match my skin tone)? Maybe I’m not all that complex; it’s possible that my life really isn’t much more intricate than what customers see when I scan the barcodes on their oak two-by-fours in their carts and take their dirty coupons in my thin white hand with a smile. For the most part, I don’t speak to my coworkers unless spoken to, and as far as customers go, I am on autopilot: “Hello, you find everything okay?” If the customer only sets one or two items on my counter (usually a soap-box-sized carton of screws or some small random piece of plumbing piping): “Would you like a bag for that?” (It makes me happy when they say no; plastic bags are horrible for the environment.) The customers usually insert their cards into the card reader on my counter and then stare at me in their idle, waiting for me to perform some magical cashier trick on the computer, unaware until I peep up and tell them so that the card reader machine is waiting on them to push a button or enter a credit pin number. Maybe I’m just as dull and reticent when I go home after nine hours of, “Hello, you find everything okay? Would you like a bag for that? It’s gonna have you select debit or credit--here’s your receipt, and here is a coupon for five dollars off a purchase of twenty-five or more,” as I am when I take my lunch breaks alone in the quiet of the training room, reading some overdue library book and pinching small bite-sized pieces off of a gas station brownie to nibble at instead of taking direct bites out of the suspiciously oily pastry.Maybe I’m actually the notions inside my head. Maybe I am just a tool that they use to be heard and make their dreams a reality; maybe I’m not my body or job. Maybe I am a successful, peaceful, light-hearted artist and author--I just haven’t published my novels or hosted any successful art shows yet. Or any art shows, for that matter.Perhaps I’m my mother’s daughter; stubborn and crazy, with an invariably rotten attitude and enough financial issues for myself and all of my fellow cashiers to build a boat out of and sail away from civilization and debt.Maybe I’m always so quiet because I’m holding my tongue, like my mother, and thinking about slashing tires and throwing ceramic dishes at skulls and sinking screwdrivers into flesh, all in the name or petty revenge or an intense burst of anger. Except, come to think of it, my mother doesn’t actually ever hold her tongue, so I suppose I might just be quiet for reasons entirely my own.Maybe I’m just like my mother’s mother, like my mother is so committed to convincing me I am, except fifty years younger; nasally voice, although mine is less whiny and severe; sitting in front of a computer for hours a day, except she uses the computer her husband bought for her to do lazy transcription work so she can have money for cigarettes, the only thing in life her husband won’t buy for her, and I saved up my paychecks in high school to buy my laptop so that I could leave Mudcap High School and graduate early through online classes; we both sleep a lot, and, as my mother said when I was in high school, I “spent a lot of time on my ass” just like Grammy does--although my time in bed was always induced by an inability to find the motivation to get up, and Grammy’s bedridden state came from staying up too late playing online solitaire. Maybe I’m just that girl from Mudcap High School whose hair displayed a new fresh (done at home) short cut and color of the rainbow at the beginning and end of every month whose clothes all came from Salvation Army and whose stomach was always making obnoxious attention-seeking noises in Spanish--wait, you thought all that time that I was a boy? Well, yeah, I guess that’s reasonable. I wore a lot of huge baggy sweaters.Maybe you just know me because you know somebody who knew me. In that case, maybe I only exist in your world and consciousness as the girl who broke Jo-Ellan’s heart, or the girl who tried to look like a boy but then dropped out and grew boobs and is now hot (in the online pictures, at least). Maybe your friend has a friend who knew my twin brother, and so you heard from your friend’s friend who knows my twin brother that my twin brother’s friend saw me on a dating app, and my brother told him, “Don’t worry dude, she doesn’t like dudes. She’s just looking for a sugar daddy.” And so my twin brother, whom we will call “Z”, laughed about it with his friend once the shocking sighting of Z’s twin sister on a dating app had passed, and all was well, but now people know that Z’s twin sister is a sugar baby and not as quiet and sweet as she seems.Maybe you heard about me from Dan or Katherine; maybe you hope to meet me someday, because I sound like a very sweet person and you like the artwork of mine which they showed you. Maybe you heard about me from Tyler, the guy I made sandwiches with when I worked at Subway in high school--in which case you probably believe him when he says that I did drugs in the back room of the restaurant. Maybe you don’t even know my name--maybe you know me because you’ve seen the art I post online. Maybe you feel very connected to me, and feel pleased to see me when you see that I’ve posted a picture of a sketchbook page I’ve completed. Maybe You don’t know my name at all, but the way I layer paint and colored pencils and vary the thickness of my lineart is enough. Maybe the portraits and paintings I share are enough for you to care about me.Maybe you’re one of Sage’s friends. Maybe you hung out with us the October night when it was warm and I was seventeen and he was eighteen and he put acid under my tongue with his goofy smile and then left my house because he was high and felt like God and my bathroom-sized bedroom was like a birdcage for him at that moment in time. Maybe you were there when he skateboarded from my house to Sebastian’s with more acid and weed in his backpack and the intention to share. Maybe you’re one of the three other guys who were at Sebastian’s house, already under the magical intoxication of Sage’s acid when he called a cab to pick me up from my house and bring me there to drink canned beer and smoke mediocre blunts until the sun came up and I noticed how swollen my lips felt, because acid always makes my lips feel all swollen and purple. So maybe you know me as Sage’s girlfriend who he didn’t call his girlfriend until I finally dumped him months later and he begged for me to stay and apologized for never giving me attention or being a good boyfriend. And that was the first time he had called himself my boyfriend.I don’t want to think about nights like those anymore. The boy I’m dating now regards LSD with as much hissing ostracism as if it were all cocaine sold from the alley behind a gas station dumpster. Just thinking about that night makes me feel high, though--my anemia leads me to shiver even in sixty-degree weather, which Midwesterners consider quite warm, but I didn’t mind the wind blowing through my maroon flannel and thin anemic skin that night. As I sat on the cold chipped concrete steps in front of my house waiting for the cab Sage had called for me, the cold was refreshing and good-hearted instead of a brittle cruel punishment from Mother Nature. I didn’t feel insecure about my dingy old black high top Converse; my high-waisted jeans and black T-shirt didn’t make me feel like I looked like a twelve-year-old boy; and the dead-ends in my chin-length purple hair were not worth my concern. The sky all up above and around me and the globe, hugging the horizon of the sleepy little dangerous city, cradling the most dangerous place in all of Indiana in its arm like a tired baby, was stark black, and I could basically smell it; it was a nice undiluted solid black, and there was no pollution hiding the stars. The stars had had a grand day, and were ready to make sure that I was going to have a grand night.The neighbors on all sides of our house were drug dealers, and those were just the neighbors we actually talked to and knew anything about. The National Guard Armory to the right of my mother’s house, right across the narrow one-way street, was comical considering the neighborhood it was in. But none of that mattered; for once I didn’t hate it all. The sky was a rich fragrant black, thick enough to choke you if it had such bad intentions; but its intention were only good. The black was the many yards of high-quality fabric of a fine lady’s skirt flowing endlessly down from a well-tailored strapless bodice with a lovely fit and comely sweetheart neckline. The stars were bright and small enough to be all the jewels and shiny beads which her personal tailor had surely spent weeks or months or even a lifetime hand stitching onto the top layer of her many layers of skirts.It was such a good night to wait outside for a cab.I will never have nights like that again; life is constantly changing. I can try to recreate that, but I will never get it right. Recreating such good things is a privilege entirely out of my pale mortal hands.Maybe you know me as the girl who drew really nice insects at Emmons Elementary when we were nine years old who has since moved to and from at least three public schools in the next city over, and then left public schools entirely right smack in the middle of junior year. Maybe that’s how you know me.You could know me as Andy. If you still know me as Andy, you probably either haven’t spoken to me since sophomore or freshman year, or you knew me in eighth grade when “Andy” was still a thing, and calling me by my real name now just wouldn’t feel right after all that time. I told people to stop calling me Andy junior year, and people obeyed--well, really I just stopped talking to anybody, so nobody called me anything. But the man I am dating now called me my real name yesterday, and it just sounded strange. He never knew me when I was Andy, and Andy only lasted a few years, and I don’t introduce myself as Andy anymore. I don’t care to be called Andy anymore. Yet it feels so strange, hearing somebody casually call me by my real name. Not knowing that I ever had another name. I don’t think I’ve really spoken to people since high school, so that was one of the first times I’ve heard somebody say it. My mother doesn’t even use my name--she’s never really called me my name, or anything nice.I’m rambling. My name just sounds weird. I don’t like it when boys say it passionately.There are so many people that I may be--I can’t even begin to guess which one you may know me as. Even if I were to know exactly what experiences we’ve had together or who told you about me, maybe you don’t even see me as what we’ve done together or what you’ve heard--maybe your own personal thoughts and emotions warped what you know about me. Maybe for the better, probably for the worse. Maybe jealousy came into play somewhere along the road, and no matter what good things you’ve heard, you refuse to accept that somebody who dated somebody who you wanted to date can be genuinely kind and good. Maybe you don’t even remember anymore why you don’t like me. You just don’t.Maybe you’ve loved me since freshman year, before you even knew my name, before you cut your hair short and before I grew mine out, so no bad things you hear about me sound right or can scathe your love. Maybe you don’t want to know me. Maybe you wish you did. Maybe you’re thinking about checking the back cover of this book and scavaging the pages of tiny nonsense text that comes before the first chapter and prologue just so that you can find some email or way to contact me because you think I sound interesting.However you see me now, though, that will change. The way I see myself changes at least three times per hour.

[seaweeeeef-blog]

The Beginning of Something

OOps, I accidentally put this on the wrong blog. lmao follow shyshysmind for my writing, i’m gonna repost this oops This is the first chapter of..... something. It is also published here > https://www.wattpad.com/705655879-lavender-whomever

Who am I? Your guess is as good as mine, really.

Am I simply the young hardware store cashier with blue hair and long roots who sometimes wears bright red lipstick (which, by French fashion standards, is more of a warm red than a cool tone red and doesn’t match my skin tone)? Maybe I’m not all that complex; it’s possible that my life really isn’t much more intricate than what customers see when I scan the barcodes on their oak two-by-fours in their carts and take their dirty coupons in my thin white hand with a smile. For the most part, I don’t speak to my coworkers unless spoken to, and as far as customers go, I am on autopilot: “Hello, you find everything okay?” If the customer only sets one or two items on my counter (usually a soap-box-sized carton of screws or some small random piece of plumbing piping): “Would you like a bag for that?” (It makes me happy when they say no; plastic bags are horrible for the environment.)

The customers usually insert their cards into the card reader on my counter and then stare at me in their idle, waiting for me to perform some magical cashier trick on the computer, unaware until I peep up and tell them so that the card reader machine is waiting on them to push a button or enter a credit pin number.

Maybe I’m just as dull and reticent when I go home after nine hours of, “Hello, you find everything okay? Would you like a bag for that? It’s gonna have you select debit or credit--here’s your receipt, and here is a coupon for five dollars off a purchase of twenty-five or more,” as I am when I take my lunch breaks alone in the quiet of the training room, reading some overdue library book and pinching small bite-sized pieces off of a gas station brownie to nibble at instead of taking direct bites out of the suspiciously oily pastry.

Maybe I’m actually the notions inside my head. Maybe I am just a tool that they use to be heard and make their dreams a reality; maybe I’m not my body or job. Maybe I am a successful, peaceful, light-hearted artist and author--I just haven’t published my novels or hosted any successful art shows yet. Or any art shows, for that matter.

Perhaps I’m my mother’s daughter; stubborn and crazy, with an invariably rotten attitude and enough financial issues for myself and all of my fellow cashiers to build a boat out of and sail away from civilization and debt.

Maybe I’m always so quiet because I’m holding my tongue, like my mother, and thinking about slashing tires and throwing ceramic dishes at skulls and sinking screwdrivers into flesh, all in the name or petty revenge or an intense burst of anger. Except, come to think of it, my mother doesn’t actually ever hold her tongue, so I suppose I might just be quiet for reasons entirely my own.

Maybe I’m just like my mother’s mother, like my mother is so committed to convincing me I am, except fifty years younger; nasally voice, although mine is less whiny and severe; sitting in front of a computer for hours a day, except she uses the computer her husband bought for her to do lazy transcription work so she can have money for cigarettes, the only thing in life her husband won’t buy for her, and I saved up my paychecks in high school to buy my laptop so that I could leave Mudcap High School and graduate early through online classes; we both sleep a lot, and, as my mother said when I was in high school, I “spent a lot of time on my ass” just like Grammy does--although my time in bed was always induced by an inability to find the motivation to get up, and Grammy’s bedridden state came from staying up too late playing online solitaire.

Maybe I’m just that girl from Mudcap High School whose hair displayed a new fresh (done at home) short cut and color of the rainbow at the beginning and end of every month whose clothes all came from Salvation Army and whose stomach was always making obnoxious attention-seeking noises in Spanish--wait, you thought all that time that I was a boy? Well, yeah, I guess that’s reasonable. I wore a lot of huge baggy sweaters.

Maybe you just know me because you know somebody who knew me. In that case, maybe I only exist in your world and consciousness as the girl who broke Jo-Ellan’s heart, or the girl who tried to look like a boy but then dropped out and grew boobs and is now hot (in the online pictures, at least). Maybe your friend has a friend who knew my twin brother, and so you heard from your friend’s friend who knows my twin brother that my twin brother’s friend saw me on a dating app, and my brother told him, “Don’t worry dude, she doesn’t like dudes. She’s just looking for a sugar daddy.” And so my twin brother, whom we will call “Z”, laughed about it with his friend once the shocking sighting of Z’s twin sister on a dating app had passed, and all was well, but now people know that Z’s twin sister is a sugar baby and not as quiet and sweet as she seems.

Maybe you heard about me from Dan or Katherine; maybe you hope to meet me someday, because I sound like a very sweet person and you like the artwork of mine which they showed you.

Maybe you heard about me from Tyler, the guy I made sandwiches with when I worked at Subway in high school--in which case you probably believe him when he says that I did drugs in the back room of the restaurant.

Maybe you don’t even know my name--maybe you know me because you’ve seen the art I post online. Maybe you feel very connected to me, and feel pleased to see me when you see that I’ve posted a picture of a sketchbook page I’ve completed. Maybe You don’t know my name at all, but the way I layer paint and colored pencils and vary the thickness of my lineart is enough. Maybe the portraits and paintings I share are enough for you to care about me.

Maybe you’re one of Sage’s friends. Maybe you hung out with us the October night when it was warm and I was seventeen and he was eighteen and he put acid under my tongue with his goofy smile and then left my house because he was high and felt like God and my bathroom-sized bedroom was like a birdcage for him at that moment in time. Maybe you were there when he skateboarded from my house to Sebastian’s with more acid and weed in his backpack and the intention to share. Maybe you’re one of the three other guys who were at Sebastian’s house, already under the magical intoxication of Sage’s acid when he called a cab to pick me up from my house and bring me there to drink canned beer and smoke mediocre blunts until the sun came up and I noticed how swollen my lips felt, because acid always makes my lips feel all swollen and purple. So maybe you know me as Sage’s girlfriend who he didn’t call his girlfriend until I finally dumped him months later and he begged for me to stay and apologized for never giving me attention or being a good boyfriend. And that was the first time he had called himself my boyfriend.

I don’t want to think about nights like those anymore. The boy I’m dating now regards LSD with as much hissing ostracism as if it were all cocaine sold from the alley behind a gas station dumpster. Just thinking about that night makes me feel high, though--my anemia leads me to shiver even in sixty-degree weather, which Midwesterners consider quite warm, but I didn’t mind the wind blowing through my maroon flannel and thin anemic skin that night. As I sat on the cold chipped concrete steps in front of my house waiting for the cab Sage had called for me, the cold was refreshing and good-hearted instead of a brittle cruel punishment from Mother Nature. I didn’t feel insecure about my dingy old black high top Converse; my high-waisted jeans and black T-shirt didn’t make me feel like I looked like a twelve-year-old boy; and the dead-ends in my chin-length purple hair were not worth my concern.

The sky all up above and around me and the globe, hugging the horizon of the sleepy little dangerous city, cradling the most dangerous place in all of Indiana in its arm like a tired baby, was stark black, and I could basically smell it; it was a nice undiluted solid black, and there was no pollution hiding the stars. The stars had had a grand day, and were ready to make sure that I was going to have a grand night.

The neighbors on all sides of our house were drug dealers, and those were just the neighbors we actually talked to and knew anything about. The National Guard Armory to the right of my mother’s house, right across the narrow one-way street, was comical considering the neighborhood it was in. But none of that mattered; for once I didn’t hate it all.

The sky was a rich fragrant black, thick enough to choke you if it had such bad intentions; but its intention were only good. The black was the many yards of high-quality fabric of a fine lady’s skirt flowing endlessly down from a well-tailored strapless bodice with a lovely fit and comely sweetheart neckline. The stars were bright and small enough to be all the jewels and shiny beads which her personal tailor had surely spent weeks or months or even a lifetime hand stitching onto the top layer of her many layers of skirts.

It was such a good night to wait outside for a cab.

I will never have nights like that again; life is constantly changing. I can try to recreate that, but I will never get it right. Recreating such good things is a privilege entirely out of my pale mortal hands.

Maybe you know me as the girl who drew really nice insects at Emmons Elementary when we were nine years old who has since moved to and from at least three public schools in the next city over, and then left public schools entirely right smack in the middle of junior year. Maybe that’s how you know me.

You could know me as Andy. If you still know me as Andy, you probably either haven’t spoken to me since sophomore or freshman year, or you knew me in eighth grade when “Andy” was still a thing, and calling me by my real name now just wouldn’t feel right after all that time.

I told people to stop calling me Andy junior year, and people obeyed--well, really I just stopped talking to anybody, so nobody called me anything. But the man I am dating now called me my real name yesterday, and it just sounded strange. He never knew me when I was Andy, and Andy only lasted a few years, and I don’t introduce myself as Andy anymore. I don’t care to be called Andy anymore. Yet it feels so strange, hearing somebody casually call me by my real name. Not knowing that I ever had another name. I don’t think I’ve really spoken to people since high school, so that was one of the first times I’ve heard somebody say it. My mother doesn’t even use my name--she’s never really called me my name, or anything nice.

I’m rambling. My name just sounds weird. I don’t like it when boys say it passionately.

There are so many people that I may be--I can’t even begin to guess which one you may know me as. Even if I were to know exactly what experiences we’ve had together or who told you about me, maybe you don’t even see me as what we’ve done together or what you’ve heard--maybe your own personal thoughts and emotions warped what you know about me. Maybe for the better, probably for the worse. Maybe jealousy came into play somewhere along the road, and no matter what good things you’ve heard, you refuse to accept that somebody who dated somebody who you wanted to date can be genuinely kind and good. Maybe you don’t even remember anymore why you don’t like me. You just don’t.

Maybe you’ve loved me since freshman year, before you even knew my name, before you cut your hair short and before I grew mine out, so no bad things you hear about me sound right or can scathe your love.

Maybe you don’t want to know me. Maybe you wish you did. Maybe you’re thinking about checking the back cover of this book and scavaging the pages of tiny nonsense text that comes before the first chapter and prologue just so that you can find some email or way to contact me because you think I sound interesting.

However you see me now, though, that will change. The way I see myself changes at least three times per hour.

[fromrebeccawithlovexox]

DAY 1: Monday 6th November 2017

Today was my first day of the TEFL course...and I won't lie I was super nervous but excited and eager to get going – that is after all why I am here. Myself and two of my flat mates had a leisurely walk over to the school, which we managed to find easily. Once there we were met by Kristin – who I had been dying to meet in person since this has been something I have been planning on doing for so long! The first part of our day consisted of paperwork and orientation, here we were also given our four-week timetable – and boy Kristin wasn't lying when she said we would have an extremely poor social life (if any!) We also introduced ourselves to one another (I am in a group with seven other people), Mercedes, Nick, Regina and Bateman who are all from the USA, Katherine and Angelina who (like me) are from the UK and Lindsey who is from the Netherlands. 

First, we had a foreign language experience, this was with Stephany who we had been told earlier was going to teach us Greek. She walked into the classroom with a smile on her face making sure to gain eye contact with all of us. She then proceeded to the board to write the title of our lesson which was "Greek", once she had written this she pointed to the word and said it allowed and repeating it – she then beckoned us to repeat the word several times. She did the same process for the word hi – but she also waved at us so that we could understand what she was saying. Next, she went on to write the Greek for "my name is Stephany" she did the same as before (following the words on the board as she said them) while using body language to explain what she was saying (pointing to herself). We then went on to finding out the Greek translation for our names. She went on to teach us the Greek for:  

You are?  

Nice to meet you  

Good morning  

Good afternoon  

Good night  

Numbers from 1 to 10  

Yes and no  

Colours: (blue, brown, green, red, orange, yellow, white, black and pink)  

Thank you and you're welcome  

Empty  

Sorry  

During this lesson Stephany used Elicitation strategies such as; repetition, paralinguistic, visuals, providing words that sounded similar/began with the same first two letters and hangman. Throughout the lesson I took notes on the words she was teaching us and what they meant and during a task where Stephany put us into groups to do sheet work she told us all to close our books and she cleaned the board so there was no help – we all had to do it by memory. This took me sky high out of my comfort zone, as I am someone who basically learns from writing lines (or on the other end of the spectrum practical hands on work). However, because we were in groups I found that the ones that I remembered my classmates did not and vice versa. Our communicative activity was a game of Uno. Again, Stephany spoke no English but instead started the game, we had to say the number and colour of the card we were putting down in Greek.  

Once the lesson had concluded Stephany then spoke to us in English for the first time in an hour, and we all made notes about her lessons. She spoke about how when teaching true beginners, you shouldn't overwhelm them and start off slow. That you should never translate or explain – keep repeating and have them guess. That you should choose either pronunciation, listening, speaking or spelling and not all four at once. And you should always choose a theme/topic and stick to it – make sure everything is in context. Finally, at the end we discussed what her objective and aims were; "by the end of the lesson students will be able to use pre-taught vocabulary of numbers and colours, in order to do the communicative activity of Uno. By the end of the lesson I had a true realization of what my future students will feel – and I can honestly say that at first, I wasn't feeling confident – but as the lesson went on my confidence grew.  

After lunch we came back to have our communicative lesson with Kristin where we started learning about the different abbreviations that we would probably come across and the levels of student ability. A few examples of the abbreviations are ESOL, TESOL, TEFL, EFL, ESL, DIPTESOL, TBE, ESP...and so on. And the CEFR levels A1 to C2. I found this helpful as I was able to differentiate between the abbreviations and the difference between true and false beginners and the levels. We then went on to do our set communicative activities which entailed the entire group going around completing a sheet called "Find Someone Who" (which would be used with levels A and B students) by asking one another questions such as "are you a movie buff?" Or "have you recently learned a new skill?" I was able to get around the entire group and get answers to fill out my sheet. There is only one box empty and that is "Can you recite the US Declaration of Independence?" As there wasn't anyone in the group who could. Once our time was up on this activity we set about the next one which was "Interview a partner. Ask him or her the following questions. (Feel free to expand on the conversation to find out more information about your partner)” (which would be used with B and C level students). I was paired with Mercedes and we decided to take it in turns to ask each other the questions and for every yes answer we gave we were both intrigued to hear more. Once again Kristin signalled that our time was up and the entire group came together to discuss what skills were used and what we were supposed to get out of each activity. We used skills such as conversation, asking questions, giving informative answers, listening, note taking, interpersonal, first and third person, paraphrasing and reporting to name but a few. We also concluded that the aim for both activities was to get to know one another. Overall, we learnt that in order for it to be a communicative activity you need a group of people (not one!) to communicate and provide each other with information. After this we went through a PowerPoint presentation where I made notes on what a communicative activity is, what they had to be (learners to speak and listen to one another, lively, interactive, fun etc.) I also made a note that accuracy of language the students use is less important than the achievement of the activity which I found interesting and must remember! The PowerPoint then went on to cover points on fluency, accuracy, what matters, student grouping and types of activities. At the end of this lesson Kristin proceeded to put us in pairs to do our homework assignment of creating our own communicative activity and I am with Nick. 

Finally, we had our “Sample lesson ‘Hamburger’” with Bianca. And quite frankly I had no idea what to expect. The first thing she did was introduce herself and ask us to watch two short video clips. We then went on to discuss what they were about. We were given our communicative activity of arguing for hamburgers and against them. Bianca separated us into groups and sent us away to come up with five points to make during the discussion. The really interesting part of this class for me wasn’t as such the lesson itself, but the part where we sat and discussed the lesson plan Bianca used. We made notes on the how we got to the pre-taught vocabulary by using elicitation strategies such as: 

Paralinguistic or body language, 

Visuals such as photos/pictures/videos, 

Examples [in context] (always keep them related to your topic/theme), 

Missing word [in context], 

Antonyms which means opposites, 

Synonyms, 

Drawings, 

Hangman. 

Overall today was a real eye opener of what to expect while doing the course...I mean we were told all of our deadlines and Kristin also dropped the bomb that we would be teaching THIS Thursday....that's a mere few days away! It also provided insight into how the students will feel...whether they are at a beginner level or intermediate. I can honestly say that I expect this to be one of the most challenging months I will face, but I am really looking forward to getting stuck into the course. 

But for now, I’ll see you tomorrow TEFL. 

xox 

[krizelbau0126-blog]

You’ll Always Be My Favorite Almost (a short story)

Everything that happens in my life I think is always an ALMOST. Why do you think I say that? Because the way things are happening in my life is what I wanted but I don’t get it. I think living here is a mistake. I’m Katherine Alonzo, a girl with a very simple life. I live with my mom, my younger sister and my older brother.  My dad? Well he’s out of the picture already. He went to the states to work, lost our communication then one day we found out that he had another family. We were a complete happy family before and I thought my family was perfect but with what happen to my dad, our lives were crushed. My big brother became the house head. Good thing he already finished college and is working now. I’m currently studying at the University of the Philippines taking up Architecture. Well that’s a hard course but you know what, I’m excelling there. I’m having fun with my chosen program and I have good friends.  Maybe in the friend aspect, I think I’m lucky there.

It’s Monday morning and it’s the first day of school. I looked at my phone and sighed

“New school year, new faces. Wish I have the same schedule with my friends”

“Kat! Wake up you have to prepare for school” Mom shouted

I took a bath and ate breakfast, kissed my mom goodbye and let my older brother drive me to school. As I entered the school, I immediately went straight to the Administration office to get my schedule. I always wished to have a same schedule with my friends so that we can spend our time together. I tried calling them but no one picked up. It seems that they are already in their respective classes so I’ll just walk alone for my first class. When I entered the room, there are still some empty seats. I occupied the seat at the far left corner, next to the window. I was day dreaming until someone tapped me and interrupted my thoughts.  

“Hi! I’m Carlo, do you mind if I will seat right next to you?” Because I was shocked, I just nodded and went back to my thoughts. After some time, the professor already went in and made some introductions and some guidelines about his subject. Whoa, there are already a lot of things to do even though it is our first day, but I think I can manage it. While I’m jotting down some notes, I can sense that someone is staring intently at me and it really bothers me. I looked at my right side and check if this Carlo is looking at me but he's not. Okay, that's creepy. I just shrugged it off and drifted my attention to the professor.

"Before this semester ends, you will pass to me a house model." Our professor told us. Okay so this is it. First day and we already have a major project. Many students are already complaining and are whispering to their seatmates.

"BUT!!" the professor continued "No man is an island right? Don't worry you won't work on your own. You will work by pairs and we will have draw lots to see who your lucky partner will be." Signs of relief were shown on the faces of the students. And then the draw lots began. Others were delighted to be paired with their friends while others were disappointed and I don't know the reason why.

I stood up and went straight to the teacher's table. I'm the last one to pick from the box and saw that there's the last paper and realized that my seatmate hasn't been called so I guess I'm stuck with him. I went back to my seat and looked at him. He looked back at me and said "hi again partner". "Guess you're stuck with me" He said while smiling sweetly at me and he winked at me. Listen people, HE WINKED AT ME. After the professor dismissed us, I fixed my things and went out of the room. When I stepped out, I saw Carlo leaning on the wall. It seems like he's waiting for someone. I passed by him but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me close to him. "What are you doing?" I asked him. He let go of my wrist and rubbed the back of his head saying "Oh. Sorry about that. What time is your vacant? We need to start the project already so that we won't cram." Looking at him, I said "Oh. I'm free at 1pm. So we'll just meet at that time and at the library. I have to go I still have another class. Thank you and bye." I didn't wait for his reply and just immediately run to my next class.

It's already 1pm when my class finished and I have to go to the library because Carlo is waiting for me. I went straight ahead to the library and looked for Carlo. It took a while to find him because he was sitting at the very far corner or the library. I sat beside him and angrily whispered at him "why are you sitting here? I had a hard time looking for you!" "Oops I’m sorry. It's much quiet here and we can concentrate here more." We searched for books about our project. I was taking down notes and again, I can sense that someone is looking at me. I looked at my side and saw him staring at me. I asked him why but he just shrugged and said "I like staring at your face." I looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders again. Why are men always like this? They are very smooth with their words but I won't be affected by them.

Weeks passed and Carlo and I keep on meeting for our project. We have grown closer and little by little I'm opening up to him. Ever since the first day of classes, I haven't met my friends, we're very busy with our respective schedules. Because I miss them very much, I texted them and told them that we should meet up. Good thing it's their vacant time and I immediately stood up to meet them. As I was approaching our meeting place, I heard a bunch of girls talking at first I didn't mind them but I heard my name and talked bad things about me. I realized that my trusted friends were talking behind my back. I didn't approach them because I was very hurt of what they did to me. I thought they were my trusted friends but they were not.

After that incident, my friends didn't call me or text me and I think that’s okay. Maybe at the first place they don’t like me. I didn't mind them and just focused on my studies and our project. Carlo was being sweet to me these past weeks and sometimes he drives me home. He gets along well with my mom and with my brothers. I don't know why his actions are like that but the truth is I like it.

After class, Carlo texted me saying that he wanted to meet me and we should eat lunch together. After eating lunch, I was about to stand up and bid goodbye but he grabbed my arm and what he said gave me the shock of my life. "I like you" he said. I looked at him straight in the eye and blinked a few times letting the information sink in my mind. I asked him if he was serious and I told him that I don't believe him because I have trust issues. Especially with what my dad did to my family and my friends did to me; I had a hard time in trusting people. He told me that he will show me that he really likes me and will be serious in courting me.

After the shocking confession, Carlo became extra caring to me. To be honest, I already like him but I'm not ready to enter a relationship and I'm scared. I have so many "what ifs" in my mind. What if he's not serious about me? What if he's just playing a joke on me? And the list goes on. But that "what ifs" left my mind and I'm much opening up to him.

The day of the submission of our project has arrived and we're quite confident of what we did. Because of our closeness, our outcome became very nice. We passed our projects and finally we can breathe freely. Carlo told me that he will walk me home. I told him that I'll just talk to my professor about my scholarship and told him that he should wait for me at the parking lot. As I talked to my professor, he told me that I have a bright future ahead and he sent some of my works to his friend that is currently working abroad. He said that if I maintained my grades, he can send me to the states and make me study there. I had my hopes very high and told myself that I should study very hard.

We were on our way home and I kept rambling about what my professor told me. But I noticed Carlo's silence. I asked him what's his problem but he said there's none. He just told me that he's happy for me but at the same time he will be sad because I might leave him if my professor would let me study abroad. I reassured him that if ever I will study there, we will still have a constant communication.

We have reached home and he stayed a little at our house. I shared the news to my mom and she was very delighted. I looked at Carlo but it seems like he's very distracted. I tapped his shoulder to rouse from his reverie. He just smiled at me reassuringly and I smiled at him back. It is already our semester break and Carlo went to his province to spend some time with his family. We still have communication with each other but I miss his presence. Maybe I grew attached to him. He made me feel special and I felt the love my father didn't let me feel.

I'm always at school because my professor told me that I have a great chance in getting that big opportunity. I was busy but I always make time in texting Carlo but it would take hours for him to reply. At first it was for days and it was okay for me however it became weeks.

A new semester came and finally I can meet him. I wanted to tell him that I'm going to America in summer not to study but my professor's friend will train me there for the whole summer vacation. And I also wanted to tell him that I'm ready to enter a relationship with him. The times that we didn't talk made me realize that he made a great impact in my life. He changed my life. From a serious Katherine, he made me a cheerful one.

He called me up and told me that we should eat lunch together and we should catch up. Oh, I miss his sweet antics and stories. As I approached him, he welcomed me with a big smile and made me sit. We talked about what we did during our short vacation but I realized that I was doing all the talking and he was just staring blankly at me. I think it is time to tell him my good news to him. I called his name but he didn't respond. I called him again to break from his trance and he looked at me saying "sorry. What were you saying?" I called his name but then he cut me off.

What he told me gave me a shock. He told me that he's going to change schools and he will live in the province. He kept apologizing while I'm just staring blankly at him. I didn't realize that he already left and tears are rolling down my eyes. I heard my phone ringing and I immediately wiped my tears. It was my professor telling me that I have to go to America early and I have to stay there until the end of the year. I was hesitant at first about the change of plans but I remembered that I also needed this to get myself together.

Today is the day that I will leave for America. My mom was wiping her tears while my two brothers are just giving me reminders and kept telling me to be careful there.

As I made my way to the plane, I recalled all the things that happened to me. From the day my father left us, to the day when my friends became untrustworthy and the day when I got heartbroken. Some tears rolled down my cheeks but I immediately wiped them. These people are my almost but Carlo was my favorite almost. He made me experience love that my father didn't provide me but at the same he also made me experience hurt, the same hurt my father made me feel. I loved Carlo wholeheartedly but he wasted it. He missed the chance to be with me. But maybe it is not yet our time to be together. But then again, he's my favorite almost.