A Child's Prayer

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) came out to us for one of the two later prayers (dhuhr or asr), carrying Hasan or Hussein. The Prophet (PBUH) then came to the front and put him down (next to his right foot) said takbir for the prayer and commenced praying. During the prayer, he performed a very long prostration, so I raised my head and there was the child, on the back of the Messenger of Allah (PBUH), who was in prostration. I then returned to my prostration. When the Messenger of Allah (PBUH) had offered the prayer, the people said: 'O Messenger of Allah! in the middle of your prayer, you performed prostration and lengthened it so much that we thought either something had happened or that you were receiving revelation!' He said: 'Neither was the case. Actually, my son made me his mount, and I did not want to hurry him until he had satisfied his wish.'" (Reported by Nasaa'i, Ibn Asaakir, and Haakim)

Sujud used to be my favourite position in prayer. I've heard many people say that this is where they feel closest to God. These days, I would definitely agree, but back in the day, I used to love peering between my legs at the person behind me, or if I was at the back, at whoever was playing or coming in. And when one is exhausted, labouring through twenty rakahs of taraweeh, it certainly was the most relaxing position.

I remember quietly racing the imam in the recitations at the beginning of the prayer. No, actually, I used to race him on everything, feeling immensely self-satisfied when I bet him, when there was a significant delay before the next move, like maybe secretly I was better than him.

I used to race everyone else, too, every time we changed positions. First to bow, first to straighten up, first to prostrate, first to sit up. First to finger tap, first to salam. Standing up first was the most fun. I felt so accomplished, when I'd stand up and look at all the other old people slowly get to their feet. Only as a kid did it make sense that coming first in the so-called race of prayers made you somehow first in the sight of Allah (SWT).

I also experimented with the finger tapping, or arranging my feet (together, apart, inverted), or even in the way I positioned myself. Sometimes in rukuh it would be a matter of how low I could bow, or if I could touch my toes. In sujud I'd try to scrunch myself up as small as possible, or flatten myself on the floor. When I was really bad, I'd like to sit like a sphinx, just stick my head up and look around, at everyone else being bottoms up.

Regardless, I did my prayers. I didn't complain. They felt good. Taraweeh especially brings you a sense of peace, I can testify to this then and now. I remember figuring out the imam's routine at my masjid - when he started on surah al-fil (my favourite!), I knew we had reached the middle of the twenty, and all the surahs that followed would be ones that I definitely knew (the first half were always the seemingly never-ending ones). Even without that trademark middle, I used to keep count by drawing lines on the velvet green carpet with my finger. Looking back, I think the other adults were secretly relieved that someone was keeping count, because every now and then they'd look at me and ask for an update. It made me feel important.

Once, during Ramadan, I was praying taraweeh beside a friend at the masjid, when her aunty came in late. My friend looked around while the imam recited on, and watched her aunt hurriedly take off her shoes, drop her bag in a corner, and bustle forward.

"Has taraweeh started?" her aunt whispered loudly, looking at her. I let my chin press against chest and bit my lip. My friend gazed at her aunt.

"Is this 'isha or taraweeh?" her aunt persisted.

My friend continued to look at her. I don't know what her expression was, but I imagine it was something along the lines of blank.

Then the imam said: "allahu akbar", and we all bowed. Her aunt kind of got it then. I had to fight off giggles. We didn't talk about it afterwards, although I'm pretty sure everyone heard this exchange. Never mind all that I was taught in madrasah up until then, it was only on that night I fully appreciated focusing your gaze on the ground while in prayer.

What madrasah really did fuel, though, were my dua. Every time they reinforced that we could ask whatever we wanted and Allah (SWT) would definitely give it to us some day, my daily prayers for the next few days would conclude by me closing my eyes, clasping my hands, and furiously concentrating on asking for a hamster.

I never got the hamster, but hey, I'll gladly take my cat over a hamster any day.

Peace in,
Laila

where your education closes doors, when it should be opening them

I have heard, time and time and time again, how the 'education system is screwed up'. Many times. I've watched the Sir Ken Robinson video, I've discussed it with friends, and the book I'm reading now - 'Linchpin' - skims over it too. And I've always kind of agreed - I remember ranting a bit about it when I did an issues thing in year 9 about the nation curriculum. But there are times when you can talk about something a lot without it really hitting you. Like advocating for the death penalty, until you know someone  personally who's being put on death row. And then it's personal.

Well, this just got personal.

So right now, my sort of excuse for a job is tutoring. I have three students. One is a girl in year 12, for English - let's call her Vera. I have another kid in year 8, who's a family friend, and I'm prepping her to take an exam for a selective entry school (*growl*). She will be henceforth known as Zena. And lastly, I just got a new year 12 student for History, but we won't worry too much about her. Mostly, this is about Vera and Zena.

Selective entry schools. I hate them. With a passion. I know hate is a strong word, but for the amount of unnecessary pressure they cause, I think they can take my hate. I had to try out when I was in year 8. They have a policy where they don't take more than 12 kids from any school, and my school met that limit, so I didn't get in. I know I would have gotten in otherwise, because they sent me a letter explaining this, and they said that if I really wanted, I could apply through another way. But I sabotaged this application, because I had decided that I was not going there, that I could do well in my below-average public school, and  I would prove it. The arguments I had with my mother, the tears - bad memories, man. But I proved it, didn't I?

Yet it came back to haunt me with little Zena. Zena... When she started tutoring with me, she was really quiet and reserved. She's still pretty impassive, but I think it's her natural state. Our relationship has evolved, in the sense that she talks to me more, and she's even brought in her school homework, which makes me giddy because it means she actually thinks that I help her...

Anyway. Selective entry schools. Firstly, they don't do anything. I have friends who have gone to these schools, who have told me that these schools don't do much for them. Really, there's a higher level of competition, but in the end, the school doesn't have to do much because they already handpicked the smartest kids around, so it's sort of guaranteed that they're going to do well. And more often than not, these kids already attend jizbillions of tuition classes, so it's not like they have to put in a lot of effort. So these nerdy kids go into this high pressure environment with a million extra classes on the side, and they get good results because really, they've had it written for them their whole lives, and when it's all said and done, the school looks great because all their kids did well, and they take credit for it, but they didn't actually do much for the kids because those kids were already going to do well anyway.

And then you have All Other Normal Schools that take in all students and cater to all needs, and people think they're not so great because there isn't a 90+ average in VCE, but in fact, these school are just doing their job by accepting everyone and giving them all an opportunity. Selective entry schools are missing the point of schooling in general - it's not about pumping out the highest achievers, it's about giving everyone the foundation of a good education to pave whatever path they want in life. If it's something academic, that's great. If it's not, well, that's just as great.

No matter what people say about my school, and God knows what they say now considering the shooting of Numan last year, the arrest of two more this year, plus the death of one who went overseas to apparently fight for ISIS - all boys I knew personally, two I went to primary school with... this is a whole other crisis... BUT. No matter what they say, I think my school is a good one. I think we are limited in resources, and the students have difficulty seeing it, but the teachers really try to help you get wherever you want to go. They try to help you achieve your personal best. They help you when it comes to academics, they help you get into TAFE, they help you join police academy or whatever. They do it without judgement. And I appreciate that.

Anyway. Selective entry schools are stupid, they serve no worthy purpose, and I hate them. Let me talk about the kind of pressure this puts on kids.

On the weekend, Zena went to one of the specialised tuition centres that train kids specifically for selective entry schools, to sit a practise exam. She brought the exams and results to her next class with me so we could go over them. She was disheartened by her results.

So I know from experience that these exams are pretty harsh. I had to attend tuition a month or so before doing the exam myself, and at first, I was absolutely distraught because I did terribly on each practise test - like, barely scraping 50% at times. And then I learnt that this was pretty average in the class, if, at times, above average. And then I was mortified.

But taking a look at the practise tests now - I was downright horrified. Disgusted. Let's talk about her reading comprehension test. It runs for 30min, with no extra reading time. There are 50 questions. Did you see that? 50. That's already less than one minute per question. But now keep in mind that it's reading comprehension. Now tell, where the Hell is she supposed to find time to read the damn passages before she tackles the questions?

It's basically designed to fail kids. It's impossible to excel. It's just...

It... It...  makes them feel stupid because they don't realise it's impossible.

Can you see how cruel that is?

I mean, it's not even just this tuition thing. Think about VCE. You can't get a perfect ATAR, only close. And that system is all about ranking. I mean, let's say a vast majority of one cohort worked super hard in preparation for an exam, and they all got 90%. Well, that just gets standardised so that when they get their results, it gets scaled down because it becomes average. How is that fair? Why must we take down a generation because so many are smart? Why can't we embrace their effort?

Even university. A few weeks back, I was in a tutorial, and everyone was expressing their frustration over the recent results that had come out. I was feeling quite good because I did well (it's my blog, let me brag ^_^ ), but then I listened to the tutor talk to the others, and ... ugh. Basically, she said that if everyone did well on their exams and whatnot, the higher ups would tell them that their assessment wasn't 'sensitive enough'. So in fact, no one should feel bad about getting an average mark, or a credit, because, well, average isn't bad. And I'm not saying average is bad. It's just that the way this tutor spoke, she was basically saying that they design tests with the expectation that most people won't do particularly well, and we should be satisfied with that. It's that... attitude. That attitude that you can't ever shine, so don't bother.

And sometimes they don't even seem to care about their subjects. In one unit, last year, the staff in our tutorials said at the start that they didn't expect people to show up to lectures or the tutorials, which weren't compulsory. For our assessments, they said that we wouldn't need to put in too much effort - they even told us that we could keep all our notes open when we do the quizzes. I've had similar experiences this year too. Now, how do you expect anyone to be motivated if you can't even fake enthusiasm for your own subject? If you, who teach it, don't value it, why should we?

Do you see what I'm saying, or am I just in an irrational rage about everything?

So let's get back to Vera. For English, you have three main types of written pieces that you do - a text response, a language analysis, and a context piece. A context piece is really a written piece of your own choice, which responds to a prompt about a theme that you've studied for the year - the main ones being Identity & Belonging, Encountering Conflict, and Whose Reality? I don't know if there's another one... But basically, you study them with a few texts, and it's got a lot of philosophical aspects to it.

So my kid is doing Identity & Belonging, which is what I studied. I coached her into writing a creative piece, a sort of made up reflection. Her writing has really improved since I started tutoring her, not because of me in particular... I think it's just that the school she goes to isn't so well off, according to her, and because her peers aren't too bright, the teachers are focused on bringing them up to speed, and they don't challenge them that much. But I've been challenging her, and she's basically risen to the challenge. She has deep ideas. She expresses them well, because I've helped her to expand her vocabulary, and so now she has more words to say what she wants to say. I'm so proud :')

So she does her SAC for context, and she gets her result. It's a B+. It's not bad, all things considered, but we had hoped for more. But then she showed me the feedback. There's literally ticks everywhere, there's positive commentary on the clarity and depth of her ideas... So where'd she lose a whole grade? On the marking rubric, the only 'negative' or 'critical' thing this teacher had to say was that she was too 'wordy'. Well, I didn't know what she meant by that in relation to the piece, because it looked reasonable to me. I know what loquacious looks like. I've tutored kids, and seen peers writing, and believe me, I know loquacious. As for word limits, technically there aren't any for any of the essays you're supposed to do. It's your own judgement call - in the end, they're going to look at your response, the quality of them, and how well you express them. If you can do this in less words, good for you, and if you can do them in more, that's fine. As long as you finish on time. So she can't have taken off a whole grade for it being too 'long', because there's no such thing as too long - if you wrote it within the time limit, well, that's that. Does that make sense?

So I got Vera to ask her teacher what she meant by that. Her teacher basically said that for example, where one person might say 'let's have lunch', Vera's approach was a bit 'when the sun is at its peak on the third day of the week, let us convene under the ancient oak at the park in the corner of the city for a simple meal, yadda yadda yadda'. What is that? That is loquacious.

I understand that. Except this piece wasn't like that. It was a creative piece, for God's sake, so it had description in it. But it wasn't irrelevant or frivolous. It had a point. It was art, and it suited the mood of her piece. Besides - even if you were to write this as an expository, I would think that you would still have to be quite descriptive if you want to break down your ideas for this kind of topic. Identity and Belonging has the potential to be really deep, so you really can't just leave it at 'let's have lunch'. You need to explore it. Heck, that's the whole context title - exploring issues of identity and belonging.

I mean, this goes back to the whole 'schools kill creativity' thing, right?  I don't think all schools do that. Just some schools,  and in particular, some idiotic teachers. When I was in year 12, yes, my teacher was wary of letting kids do creative for context, because he understood that it could be difficult to come up with something brilliant and original on the spot. But he humored whoever wanted to try it, including myself, and let me say it again - I did  well. What's important is that he let us make our own choices, because to him, it wasn't about doing it a certain way to get a certain grade; it was about achieving your own personal best, something you could be proud of. And he was happy if you were.

So I guess this rant touches on many little things to do with schooling and education, a bit here and a bit there. Let me sum it up for you:

1. Don't waste your time with selective entry schools. They suck. 

2. There are some institutions, some schools, some teachers, that just - for whatever reason - drag you down. Sometimes they do it because it's a system they're used to, sometimes it's because they think they're doing what's best for you. Sometimes they don't know what they're talking about. But they suck too.

3. Don't let people make you feel stupid. Wherever you go, whatever you do, put in a 100%, and you may reap the rewards, or you may not. The point is, you need to feel like it's your best, because you can't rely on these systems or people to appreciate you. You need to appreciate yourself. Own your genius, whatever kind it may be. 

Erm... take feedback too. I don't mean that people should always hug you and tell you you're awesome just because you did the work. Sometimes you are wrong, sometimes your ideas have a flaw or two. That's okay. Take it and improve. But don't let people limit you. Don't ever let them hold you back.

Man, it feels good getting that off my chest.

Peace in,
Laila