GingerSass

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A brief poem

 

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Yesterday’s tomorrows
are no longer today.
It’s time to set forth
and move on to the unknown.

-KB

 

I have a lot to post about (graduation! The Great Gatsby! moving!) but right now my energy has to focus on packing up my apartment and moving home by Friday at 5. It’s supposed to be raining tomorrow and Friday so I’m crossing my fingers and toes that the rain holds out until I’ve relocated my life back home.

 

I’m both excited and saddened to be leaving the life I’ve grown accustomed to over the past 5 years. It’s both calming and terrifying to be leaving this chapter of my life and catapulting into the unknown.

 

I guess I’d better go back to packing up my life. I promise I’ll update GingerSass so much this summer you’ll be sick of me! :)

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I did it.

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In a matter of hours, I’ll be done being a student. (Unless I pursue my Ph.D, but that’s not going to happen for at least a few years! I need to recover from the past 17 years of my life.)

 

I graduate from grad school at 4:30 this afternoon. I’m graduating with a 4.0 GPA, and receiving an award at the graduation ceremony. I’ve worked my butt off during grad school, and it’s actually freaking me out to see the results of all of my hard work.  I’ve been nominated for a few awards this year, which I’ve kept to myself because I get embarrassed talking about my accomplishments. I was nominated to represent my grad school as a student teacher of the year, and I was also nominated to be the student speaker at graduation. I didn’t receive either of the honors, but it truly blew my mind that my advisor–and others– would think I was worthy of these moments of recognition for the hard work I’ve put forth in becoming an educator.

 

In the spirit of graduation, as well as the disbelief that I’m actually graduating this afternoon, I’d like to share the speech I wrote for graduation with you. One of my friends was selected to be the student speaker for graduation, which is awesome because she’s an amazing public speaker. Plus… I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop crying if I had to read this out loud.

 

Thank you all for supporting my journey to become the best educator that I can be. I may be unemployed at the time of graduation, but I also know that I will find a job where I can make a difference in the lives of students. It’s what I’m meant to do.

 

Without further ado…my speech:

Thank you so much faculty, staff, distinguished alumni, family, friends, loved ones, and, of course, the Rutgers Graduate School of Education Class of 2013! I’d also like to take a moment to thank the behind-the-scenes people, whether they be the guy who sends us countless emails– I’m looking at you Ken– or the College Ave Gym workers who made sure we had at least three fans in the place today. Everyone in this room has made this day possible, and I want to be sure that everyone knows how grateful we are for each and every one of you.

We’re about to receive a piece of paper– or, at least a temporary piece of paper until our “real diploma” gets mailed to us– that tells the world we are now eligible to be educators. For some of us, this paper is sending us ricocheting into the world outside of the college bubble for the first time. For others, this paper is adding a slew of letters to our last names. No matter what the case, we’re all about to take the education world by storm!

This afternoon, I want to let you all know that I will not use the t-word in my speech, which is a little odd considering this is the Graduate School of Education Convocation. Before I go any further, I need to take a moment to reveal something about myself, something that only a few members of my Cohort know. It’s something I’ve struggled with since I became part of the GSE, and I’m not too sure how many other people in here identify this way. Folks… I don’t identify as a teacher. I identify myself as an educator.

The dictionary defines a teacher as “a person who teaches, especially in school.” It defines an educator as “a person who provides instruction or education.” While the two words may seem like synonyms to most of you, to me they are worlds apart. According to the dictionary, a “teacher” is defined by his or her profession. An “educator” is defined by providing something that has the potential of changing and saving lives. This is what the GSE nurtures us to become.

Now, I know not everyone in the class of 2013 will receive the “teacher title.” Some of us are going into College Student Affairs or becoming Supervisors. Others are going into Counseling. Some of us have earned our Ph.D’s or are becoming Faculty Members somewhere. Others are here because they’ve become certified in something or are becoming Coaches. This gym is filled with graduates going in so many different directions with one thing in common: we are here because we wanted to continue our education. We wanted to dive further into the education field and make a difference some how, some way.

Every single one of you will make a difference in the lives of people, whether you realize it or not. You are the educators of the Rutgers GSE. You are intelligent, willing to be challenged, and undeniably amazing. You have the power to change lives for the better, and the power and knowledge to inspire others to do the same. You will get through the easy days with moments of grace and finesse, and even get through the tougher ones with determination and resilience. That, and a lot of caffeine. You are survivors. If you can make it through hurricanes, life, death, and the RU Screw while at the GSE, you can do anything. You can take on the impossible and put it in its place. You are the best of the best, and nothing is going to be too hard for you to handle as you face “the real world.”

In the last week of my student teaching internship, the Newtown, Connecticut school shooting occurred. In a semester that had already caused my students to lose their sense of security and stability because of Hurricane Sandy, I knew my students would want to discuss what had happened… and I let them. In my Creative Writing elective course, the students discussed the various individuals who had either lived or died in the shooting, and how the media had conveyed them. Victoria Soto, the teacher who hid her students in their cubbies and then took a bullet for them, was brought up. I could feel the inevitable happening, and, sure enough, one of my students said, “You know Miss B, this whole thing has me wondering… would you take a bullet for us? Be honest.”

As educators, especially in today’s world, we’re going to be asked some tough questions, some of which we may not have the answers to. We’re going to have to think on our feet, and we won’t always be right. We may say or do or even be “the wrong thing,” but at the end of the day, as I responded to that student, as educators, it is our priority to create a safe learning environment for all of our students. We need to not only change the lives of our students, but save them as well.

I know that each and every one of us is about to continue on an amazing journey. Each and every one of us has worked extremely hard to get to this moment. Our legacy begins today, and I cannot wait to see what mark the Rutgers GSE Class of 2013 educators will leave on this world.

I am so proud to be one of you.

Thank you so much. Enjoy the rest of this afternoon… We did it!!

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Thank you for fat-shaming me.

On the same day that I realized I’m too old to go clubbing, I was fat-shamed.

 

Now, I know fat-shaming happens on a regular basis. I see it every day in the media, on social-networking sites, and on the college campus where I work and attend grad school. I’ve just never had it directly aimed at me before.

 

2013-05-04 20.41.15I was pretty sure this was a seat designed for me at the Home Depot checkout the other day.

 

According to the BMI index, I’m considered “overweight.”

 

I’ve known this for awhile. I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis in January 2009, and, at that time, my BMI deemed me “normal weight,” although I did look a bit bony and weak at that time. Once I was in remission, and my “miracle drug” was in my system, I’d splurge every once in awhile and eat whatever I wanted, while still trying to eat healthy in the dining hall. (I was a freshman in college at the time.) I went home for the summer, and it became a little easier to eat junk food again. (Junk food is expensive when you’re in college and not working!) Sophomore year of college came, and my eating and drinking habits worsened. I lived in a hotel for a year, which was pretty awesome, but I was given a stipend on the university debit card to eat my meals with. (I was a RA and we didn’t have a dining hall at the hotel. The debit card allowed us to eat wherever it was accepted.) This was fabulous at first, except the only places that accepted the university debit card were fast-food joints and restaurants. I spent a year of my life eating takeout. That definitely wasn’t healthy. Fast forward 3 more years, through break ups and make ups, the death of a friend, and stress-induced depression, and food has become my coping mechanism.

 

I’m now at the heaviest I’ve ever been.

 

Recently, I find myself relating to Portia de Rossi’s book, Unbearable Lightness, in regards to my relationship with V. When talking about her relationship with Ellen DeGeneres, Portia writes, “I met Ellen when I was 168 pounds and she loved me. She didn’t see that I was heavy; she only saw the person inside. My two greatest fears, being fat and being gay, when realized, led to my greatest joy.” 

 

While I’ve known for quite some time that I’m a flaming homo, having met V at the highest point of my weight gain, and having her love me no matter what, has been both wonderful and terrifying. It’s helped my body image issues I’ve developed over the past year or two dissolve, but it’s also empowered me to embrace my body as-is and not care about my weight.

 

I didn’t realize how bad my weight had gotten until someone made me feel like shit last week.

 

I went out dancing with friends. I felt too old to be out dancing. We left the club by 12:30. I hadn’t eaten since 1pm, and, after we left the club, we stopped at Taco Bell, as per someone else’s request. While everyone discussed what they were going to get, I simply placed my order at the drive-thru window.

 

I ordered a Mexican pizza combo, with Mountain Dew. It also came with one taco that I planned on eating for lunch the next day.

 

An individual that I don’t know too well started busting my chops about getting a combo as everyone else ordered one or two tacos. (The equivalent of a combo, minus the drink, I might add.) Hahaha, you’re so funny. Yes, hahaha, I ordered a combo. I’m such a fatass! I joked back, not really seeing what the big deal was.

 

Then the big deal happened.

 

Over the course of twenty minutes, the same individual made multiple jokes about me ordering twenty tacos, about me ordering “an entire Mexican pizza,” about me ordering so much food that Taco Bell needed to close for the rest of the night. This individual didn’t make one joke at the drive-thru and call it a day. Over a course of twenty-minutes, this individual made ten to fifteen jokes about my order and me being a fatass. One time can pass as being slightly funny. Two times is pushing it. Three times is crossing the line. Anything more than that is bullying.

 

Being fat-shamed by this individual repeatedly wasn’t a nice feeling. It was bullying. Yet, I allowed myself to be victimized. I didn’t speak up or say anything because I didn’t want to cause any drama or conflict.

 

I allowed myself to become a victim of fat-shaming.

 

I have never been so ashamed of myself.

 

I spent a lot of time reflecting on that evening, and what I could have done differently. I spent a lot of time feeling like I should have ordered a fresco taco, or nothing at all, despite the fact that I was starving.

 

Then, it hit me:

I needed to be fat-shamed in order to get my life back together.

 

I’m done with grad school. I’m moving back home in exactly two weeks. (!!!) I need to really force myself to eat healthily and BE healthy if I want to be happy with my weight and myself.

 

I don’t want to have to go “teacher clothes shopping” and settle for “things that look okay” in my “fat-size.” My “fat-size” has become my “normal-size” this past year, and that is NOT okay. It is not okay for me to not treat my body well. It is not okay for me to binge-eat out of stress or boredom. It is not okay for me to sit on my butt and tweet about how gorgeous it is outside instead of actually going outside.

 

I want to be a thinner, healthier me FOR ME. Not because I was fat-shamed.

 

Nonetheless, I am grateful for the schmuck who took it upon himself to crack jokes about my combo meal. The hurt he made me feel also empowered me to want to change my life around.

 

So, I told V I want to do more active things this summer. I got a job nannying two very active kids. I’m promising myself to take my dog for a run at the park one or two times a week. I’m swearing off fast-food until I deem it necessary. I’m trying to only eat fruits, vegetables, yogurt, and other healthy food items. I’m ready to make the change I’ve been putting off for a few years.

 

Thank you for fat-shaming me. You’re still a judgmental asshole, but you gave me the kick in the butt I needed to see how much I wanted to change my life around.

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Springtime Sestina

DSC03031Bryant Park, NYC, 5/3/2013

 

Springtime Sestina
-KB, 5/8/2013

I awaken to an unbearable itch.
My eyes are swollen, filled with water.
I ponder if I am sick or with fever,
and I long for a box of tissues,
as I open my blinds to greet the sun
on this glorious day of Spring.

Somehow I always forget about the evils of Spring,
and how it brings forth a constant itch.
I instead focus on the beauty of the sun,
as my eyes constantly water,
and I become a stock-holder in tissues,
all to spite– and enjoy– my Spring fever.

When did I come to possess such a fever?
It certainly wasn’t at the mention of Spring
or the fortieth trip to the supermarket for a box of tissues
or the ego-induced exchange of words over whose throat had a worse itch
or the desperate splashing of eyes with cool water
or the blistering burn caused by the sun.

It’s deceivingly beautiful, the sun.
It turns the world round, gives its inhabitants a delirious fever
that is only healed by the cool, clear water
of an April rain, or perhaps a fresh spring
surrounded by flora that gives you a natural itch
to explore nature’s beauty and cry tears of joy into your tissues.

But what makes up the layers of my flesh’s tissue–
burnt a crimson red from the Springtime sun–
sensitive to the most miniscule of nature-induced itches…
What causes my haze-filled fever?
It is the lethal season of Spring
that makes me want to hide beneath the surface of the pollen-free water.

Yet, I break free from the water,
soaring past the surface, leaving bruises on my alabaster skin’s tissue,
as I try to forget the harsh Winter in hopes of a freeing Spring.
I imagine myself dancing beneath the sun,
forgetting, just momentarily, my hay fever,
as promises of sunshine and new life mask the itches.

So, for this, I smile at the sun,
grateful for my Spring fever,
and ready for a remedy for this seasonal itch.

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