Reflection | Anneke

Reflection blog assignment

What have you learned about becoming proficient in English by writing a blog? 
I did become more proficient in English, because by means of this blog I took more notice of the mistakes I make/made in writing and speaking. Of course I’m still making mistakes now, but I’ve detected lots of them and tried to come up with sources which could improve these. After all these weeks I’ve learned that it is very important knowing where you should work on when you want to govern you speaking, reading, listening or vocabulary. I you don’t know what mistakes you make, you will never be able to improve these. Also, it is significance to know what you can do and what you already manage, because it makes one proud and gives them motivation to perfect these and more difficult to obtain skills. What I do now is that after all these weeks posting blogs, I did improve my writing and therefore also my vocabulary a lot without even noticing it. Reading, listening and speaking have improved but not as good as writing and vocabulary. These subjects have been improved by looking and using recourses like, British series, reading books, reading BBC news, the guardian and CPE practice tests.  

How could you do that with your pupils? 

Making my pupils more proficient would include much practice. Simultaneously, making them aware of what they still need to improve and what they already govern. As a teacher I would give them feedback on their writing and order them to improve the errors by extra exercises, which I have or will gather for them. As a result, my pupils know what they need to improve and are going to better these in instant.  If a big part of my pupils have trouble with the same subject I could adjust parts of my lessons explaining the subjects they are not fully familiar with. Not only can I do this with writing, but also with reading. Looking at speaking and listening, I would use a different approach. Regarding speaking, I would let my pupils read aloud in class and let the listeners take notes of what is said wrongly. Concerning listening, I would probably let them listen to videos and as exercise summarizing these. Expanding vocabulary would be done by reading books and let them learn the words mentioned in the school books.  

65 years later... | Anneke

85 years old, two children, 2 grandchildren and counting

What a lovely day, my little troublemakers are staying over for the night and are at the moment playing hide and seek in the attic. Every now and then, when they find each other, you hear them screeching with joy.  Its three o’clock now and it’s awfully quite, so I decide to call them to come down for tea and cookies.

‘Jeeaah granny’s cookies’, they scream and rush downstairs in instant.
 ‘Please children, be more careful next time will you?’ ‘You little bastards are giving me heart problems’  ‘Sorry Gran, they say’ ‘We will be more careful next time’
‘Playing hide and seek! James and Tom said at exactly the same time’.
 ‘Ow, and we also found a box full of books and some films’, said Tom.
‘Aha, that’s why it was so awfully quite for some time. You’ve been sniffing around my old stuff’, I said while giving them an inquiring look.
 ‘Weren’t we allowed to?’ Said James in an innocent way.
‘It’s no problem, as long as you clean up afterwards. ‘Have you guys found something interesting?’
 ‘Yes we did! We found a film called, euhm, oohyeah Suffragette between a pile of boring looking books’, said James.
‘What’s it about Gran?’ asked Tom.
‘Well, when I was 20 years old we were assigned a film and later on we needed to write an essay about it. I’m very glad they assigned me this film, because It’s about the woman suffrage and therefore very interesting to watch’
 ‘What is suffrage?’, James asked.
‘It’s the right to vote. You see, a century ago, women weren’t allowed to vote and that’s why they took action’, I explained.
‘Why weren’t they allowed to?’ asked James.
 ‘Because, it was assumed that women were too stupid or weak to bear the responsibilities of voting’
‘Well that isn’t very friendly ’, said Tom. ‘But, why must you write about it?’
‘Because it was part of the course British Art in Context’ ‘To show them my level of writing and assembling an essay’
‘You only needed to write?’ ‘Sounds kind of boring to me’, said James.
‘No, of course not silly, we also learned a lot about the history of Britain. About smugglers, strikes which got out of hand, religion, the industrial revolution, immigration and loads of other things. We even made poems, something I had never done before and I got inspired by the tasks we needed to do. What also was very keen of teacher was that the overflow they created between the books we needed to learn and the subjects they taught us. Reading the book beforehand made us trigger our foreknowledge and made us acquaintance with the subjects’
‘Oehh Smugglers, sounds fun!’ said Tom.
‘May we watch television now gran?’ asked James.
‘Yes of course’, I said.

 I walked to the living room to turn on the television.

The boys sat next to each other watching funny home videos. I sat in my armchair knitting a pair of socks as my thoughts wandered off. 60 year ago I got my first job as a teacher and I’d loved to do it. Strange it is how much influence courses can have on you as a teacher without actually knowing it. I’ve adjusted poetry, mind mapping and even Pecha Kucha’s in my lessons, giving it a twist of my own without revering back to where I caught the idea of the assignments. Now, I am 85 and I’m not teaching anymore. I have had a good life so far, I married with my husband who is cards with one of his old mates right now, I gave birth to two beautiful daughters and both of them gave birth to a boy. Tom is 8 years old now and James is 6. Now I have the privilege to see them grow up and tell them about my life experiences. 

When they’ve sat down at the table on the balcony I poured them a nice cup of hot tea with milk and gave them a huge crump of spiced biscuit. It was a beautiful day, not too hot and not too cold.  

‘So, what have you guys been up to today?’ I asked.

85 and still going strong | Hannah

I have to write a reflective essay for the module British Arts in Context. We had to write as if we were 85 and looking back at the module and the way we taught it ourselves. I got a bit too excited an wrote this. This is only the beginning. Part two is coming soon. Enjoy!

‘Bye honey!’ Called Amanda, while getting in the car. It was 8 pm on a Monday evening. Amanda and Nick would stay in a cottage nearby this year. Her daughter Sam was already inside and Oliver, Sam’s little brother, waved enthusiastically to his mom and then ran into the living room. I took my time to close and lock the door and walked after Oliver into the house. 85 and still going strong, I thought to myself, smiling. The living room was bright, light and airy looking. I loved it here. I loved it even more when my children or grandchildren came to visit. I loved to be surrounded by people and now that my teaching days were way over, sometimes I missed being surrounded by people. Oliver had just had his birthday weekend. This meant that the summer holidays had started as his birthday was the 15th of june. Sam and Oliver, my daughter Amanda’s kids, came over for a week ever since Oliver was one year old. They loved it here as much as I did, maybe even more. It was always an adventure to have them over. Our beautiful house near the sea in Brighton was spacious and like a playground to these kids. It was amazing to see them grow and develop. Sam was 16 years old and stuck right in the middle of puberty. I saw her struggling to find herself, but I also saw her strong character coming through.

My thoughts were interrupted as the voice of my 12 year old grandson came from the attic: ‘Grandma?! I found an old box with old movies and papers and it says ‘uni’ on the top. Can I bring it down stairs?’

‘Sure, peach. Be careful, though, it might be heavy.’
I heard stumbling and a few minutes later Oliver stood in the middle of the living room with a box as big as his torso in his hands. ‘Put it on the floor over here. We can have a look at what is inside.’

‘Yes, let’s see if there are any stories inside.’ He says eager. Somewhere in the time I became a grandma, I also became a storyteller. My grandchildren loved the stories I told. It was so wonderful to bond with them and see them marvel at the stories I told them about the past. When he put down the box, I see that there is a stray movie on top of it. ‘Did you get this out?’ When I pick it up and see the front cover, I laugh. ‘Where did you get this from, then?’

‘It was in the box. Why do you have an old film with naked men on the cover, grandma?’ I snicker and feel young again. I blush just a little bit. Of course I got picked to watch this film, I think to myself, smiling. ‘That box is the box containing everything I have left from when I was in university in Leeuwarden to become an English teacher. That film is a film I had to watch and write a review about.’

‘Why did you have to write it? Couldn’t you just look it up online?’

‘No, silly, I had to write down what I thought about it, myself. Do you want me to explain?’

‘Yes, please! And can I see the film?!’
I chuckled and coughed. ‘I think you are a little bit too young for this film.’
His face dropped. ‘Sorry, sweetie, you can pick another film this afternoon and we can watch it okay?’

‘Can it be a Disney film?’

‘Not a Disney film, pleeease.’ Shouted Sam from the other room. She walked in, with her nose in a book.

‘Peter Pan?’ Asked Oliver with his eyes big and puppy like. His sister looked up from her book and smiled. ‘Oh, alright, then. But I want to hear grandma talk first, so be quiet, you!’ She fake-threatened him.
He grinned wildly, while jumping up on the couch beside me. Sam sat down in the big armchair Michael, my husband, always sat in. He was out with our dog, so it gave us the time for storytelling. I could see them being excited, even Sam, who was trying very hard to not be interested too much. She tried to be a ‘grown-up’ as she thought she should be, but also still kind of being a child. It was endearing to watch.

‘You both know that I was a teacher, of course.’ As I wrote books for middle schoolers taking English and for English teachers alike, they knew about my life as a teacher. ‘This box has 4 years of memories, pictures and notes and what not, from when I was studying. What I really remember from the course is that, when I was a young teacher myself, I was about 30 year old I think, I remember contacting my teachers that taught me the course, if I could have the materials so I could teach it myself.’

Sam was staring at me in awe, probably wondering why I would ever want to contact an old teacher, and Oliver was looking confused.

‘But, grandma, why didn’t you just make something up?’ He asked.

‘You can’t just make something up, silly. That’s not how it works. You have to prepare stuff.’

Oliver looked at his sister like he couldn’t believe what she was saying. ‘You know how it works?’ He asked, him being the one in awe this time. ‘Do you want to be a teacher?’

Sam quickly looked down in her lap. ‘No.. maybe, I don’t know.’

I put my hand on Sam’s hand and smile at her encouragingly. ‘If you listen carefully maybe you can pick something up from this.’ I winked at her.

Less than three,

A teacher to be,

Hannah

The Guardian | Anneke

This morning I took some time to scroll through the Guardian app on my tablet while enjoying a nice cuppa. Firstly, I read the headlines and wrote down words I didn't master yet and searched for their significance. Secondly, I read an article and did the same thing. The article I read was named "Creating child poverty for a whole new generation. Take a bow, Theresa May". I choose to read this article, because it sounded shockingly and therefore interesting.

Summary of the article:

The government is increasing the rent in the city of Wirral. As a result, 88.000 families across Britain won't be able to pay their rent anymore. Because of this, they are pushed into poverty and afraid of facing homelessness. Consequently, people are anxious about the fact that their children might be taken away from them. This mostly affects single parents. Families who are most hit are the people who live in low-rent areas. Where can these people go when they can’t even afford the cheapest houses anymore? The article says emergency accommodations for displaced families or on the streets leaving 500.00 children homeless.

To conclude, we truly life in a mad world. But, on the other hand, it's the Guardian who's talking.

I decided to summarize the article to see if could understand the main point of it. When writing the summary I changed verbs into others with the same meaning to see how far my vocabulary has extended. Also, I tried to put as much transitional words in there as possible. By doing so, I've practiced reading, writing and vocabulary.

The words I wrote down + meaning:

Memoir: memorial, essay, transaction

Liability: obligation

Bribes: buy, corrupt

Volatile: fleeting, casual, featherheaded

Contagion: infection

Eviction: expansion, ejectment (uitzetting)

Hard up: slecht bij kas

Amid: among, amidst

Frenzy: rage

Breach: violation

Borough: city, town

Shortfall: lack of

Dear Rachel | Hannah

Dear Rachel,

I read your blogpost (click the link to read the blogpost) about the Memorial to the murdered Jews. I just wanted to say that I know how you feel. I know that feeling you described, when you see people being so disrespectful. I went there myself and I wrote a poem about it. It's about what I felt when I visited the memorial mixed with thoughts about a friend of mine feeling trapped and overwhelmed by life, and everything that was going on at the time. I remember feeling really lost and small walking into the memorial deeper and deeper. It was really intense. I visited the memorial at night. It being dark and lights around us from the Light Festival, it was a strange experience. I don't remember planning the trip. Maybe we came aross it by accident, maybe our teachers planned for us to see it. But it was strange and sad. Not everyone took it seriously. I feel very incapable of capturing what it means to the people actually hurt by what happeend during the war. A lot of the times, when I think about it, I feel like it is something incredibly distant, which it is, in some ways. I do feel the responsibility, especially when seeing a memorial like that, to make sure people know about this. It's just that sometimes, you can feel a little lost in your own world.. 

I don't know how your 'reading Dutch poetry' is, but I roughly translated it in to English, if you want to read it in English, too.

Ik stop niet

Berlijn 2012

Ik voel me gevangen
Gevangen in een droom
Omringd door stenen bomen
Ik voel
Glooiend bos landschap
Ik begeef me over heuvels
Maar ik vind mijn weg niet
Verdwaald
Verdwaald in een droom
Waar ik de weg niet meer vind
De weg kwijt in mijn eigen land
Mijn eigen stad
Ik voel me gevangen
In een droom die werkelijkheid lijkt
Maar de kloof is er
Voelbaar
Tussen de dromen en de werkelijkheid
Maar ik stop niet
Ik zoek een uitweg
Gevangen in een droom
Maar ik stop niet

Voor M.

©HannahvanDijk

Translation

I won't stop

Berlin 2012

I feel trapped
Captured, like in a dream
Surrounded by concrete trees

I feel

Flowing forest landscape

I find myself moving

But I can't find my way

Lost

Lost, like in a dream

I can't find my way, anymore

Lost in my own country

My own city

I feel trapped

In a dream that seems reality

But the chasm is there

Tangible

Between dreams and reality

But I won't stop

I will find a way out

Captured, like in a dream

But I won't stop

To M.

©HannahvanDijk

Less than three,

A teacher to be,

Hannah

Surrounding myself with the English language | Anneke

1. In the autumn holiday my family decided to pay visit at Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. My sister, mom and dad choose to take a Dutch guideline with them and I decided to get the one written in English. While strolling along the beautiful paintings and the information signs beside them it occurred to me that there were a lot of English spelling mistakes written on these signs. Finding out these mistakes made me actually feel kind of proud. Apparently, I'm better in knowing when to use a past form instead of a continuous form then the organization of the Rijksmuseum. Unless, Rembrandt van Rijn is still alive of course.

2. When I have time to read the papers in the morning I decide to read the British ones instead of the Dutch ones. For some reason it looks like that the BBC and the Guardian mention more about what is happening in the world. Therefore, I find it more interesting to read and it also improves my vocab and reading skills. A win win situation!

3. In school we speak English all day. However, my pronunciation is still not well enough. That’s why I asked fellow students to correct me whenever I'm making a mistake. As a result, I hope to get aware of the errors I make and improve these. Ow, and not only in school, but also on whatsapp we students communicate only in English

4. I'm not exactly living within a walking distance from school. Thus, I need to travel there using public transport. This costs me 50 minutes to get there and therefore I always take a book with me to read while travelling. At home I don't take time to read, so this is quite a good alternative. Also, since I started this education I decided to quit reading Dutch books and go on with reading only English ones. At the moment I'm reading Miss Peregrine's house for peculiar kids.

5. When surfing on the internet I make it a habit to look things up using only the English Language.

Reevaluating my choices | Hannah

This week I have been thinking about a lot of things. Among those things was a slightly alarming thought that I ought to be keeping a blog, to keep track of my proficiency progress. As technology is amazing these day, I am able to make it look like I uploaded twice a week on the right day, yet this is not the truth. The truth is that I have been lacking inspiration to write anything, except in moments of extreme emotion or deep nightly-I-should-be-sleeping-thought, that I probably will never post on the internet. Because, as all of you understand, even though I will share an awful lot on the internet, some things are, in fact, private.

"Why do you have so many blogs?" A teacher asked, when I told her about my love for blogging at the beginning of this project. I did not have to think about that for one second. I was a very enthusiastic 14-year-old and the thing I loved most was pouring my heart out in new projects. And it was great. Especially at the beginning. The end .. not so great, merely because of the fact that I would never finish it. I would start something. It would be quite good at first, but over time I would loose interest. Only because it just didn't challenge me anymore. I got bored, I stopped putting time and energy into it. As a result: the project was forgotten. That is why I now am kind of skilled at drawing and I am kind of skilled at playing the guitar and I played violin for a few years and I barely passed my havo exams. The list goes on and on. But I was answering the question why I have so many blogs? The things is.. a blog doesn't 'end'. It is not like a book with a beginning and an ending. It's just there, if you know what I mean. So, I think that was very appealing to me. I could start with enthusiasm, over and over and over again. So, I feel like reevaluating my love for blogging. That is what you are about to read: my reevaluation.

As a teenager, any possible chance I got to get my voice out into the world, trying to make a difference, thinking it would make one, I grabbed. As probably a lot of teenagers would do. My 'chance', if you will, was the phenomenon 'blogging'. I did not read any blogs. Nor did I know anyone who blogged. Honestly, I don't even know how I got to blogging. I just did. And I had a fabulous time doing it. I never doubted the fact that anyone would read my blogs, ever, but still .. I heard of this girl named Anne Frank, who kept a diary and it made her famous. For good reason, I might add: she gave the world an insight into her heart, in the midst of a war. It is heartbreaking and it gave and gives people one thing, the one thing we all want: hope. As a conclusion, I launched blog post after blog post containing all my teenage angst and emotion into the world. My poems, which contained personal views as well as views from other people (which some people still don't understand: I suck at debating, yet I can perfectly write a poem that is drenched in emotion about a topic that I wholeheartedly do not agree with). Furthermore, I wrote teenage love stories, stories about adventures I would probably never go on. And I journal-ed (is that even a word? Probably not.). I kept an online-dairy. I just wrote what happened in a day, how I felt. Yet as I look back at these blog posts, they only reach a certain surface level. I almost never mentioned to anyone, not even to myself, how I really felt back then. I am very grateful for my enthusiastic teenage-self. For the courage and confidence I had to put those things on the actual internet.

As an older teen, reading all these fiction - I repeat: fiction - books about teens my age actually making that difference, it made me realize something. It was fake. The difference they made in those books: it wasn't real, so why would my pathetic blog posts make any difference. Luckily, I am not a pessimistic person, at all. In fact, I am a very positive and hopeful person. So I also realized that writing in general helped me think, helped me create and helped me become more myself and a better person. As you realize by now: I did not make the difference I thought I would make when I was 15. I do however still believe in what I once read in a book about a 16-year-old fighting the system: I believe in small acts of bravery. Not even conquering or saving necessarily, but the act of trying your very best to achieve something better for the world around you.

So I was wondering if I still loved blogging as much as I did 6 years ago. And I do. Just in a different way. I still love having my voice heard, but now probably in a less obnoxious and a much more reserved, more thought through way. I want people to look at things from more than only their own perspective. There is beauty is raw and unedited writing, but there might be more value, in the long haul, in writing that comes from a peaceful mind and a place of thoughtfulness. 


Less than three,


a teacher-to-be,


Hannah