Cert. TESOL - Week 4 - When Freedom Comes Knocking

IT IS DONE!

I scrounged and struggled and clawed my way through it, but I finally got there and now I am officially qualified to Teach English to Speakers of Other Languages.

Get in!

My apologies for the delay. I've spent the last few days recovering from the overload of work and deadlines and lesson planning and lesson delivery during Week 4. Thus, after celebrating with colleagues on Friday and Saturday, I spent some time with myself and my Playstation and my laptop.

What can I say about Week 4? It should have been the bitch really as the amount of work I had during Week 3 was ridonkulous. But after deciding that my mentality was going to be "get it done and do it quickly", by Tuesday, I had pretty much sorted myself out in terms of deadlines and only had lesson planning to worry about. 

This was the week I'd been dreading because Matt was going to be assessing me during my lessons and Matt was the one I'd talked about in my last entry - the one who systematically ripped my colleague's lesson plan apart even before she'd taught it. So this was playing on my mind a great deal because after observing a few of the other lessons, I knew that the content I'd selected was waaaay too easy for this class. I progressed anyway - got through it - and another merit! Whoopdedo!

I think that come the end of the week, I was ready for it to end. The final hurdle for all of us was to be moderated by a moderator from the awarding body - Trinity College. I had expressly asked to be moderated on Saturday because my final lesson was on Friday, but what irritated me the most was that I was the very last person to be moderated that day.

Ultimately, it's one of the four assignments that is moderated externally. We had to pick two materials that we'd used during lessons - one good, one bad. I was wobbly with this because while my bad one was a piece of crap, my good one was just 'okay'. Thus, this, coupled with the fact that I was last made me uneasy. I watched as people would go in and come out and how a weight had been lifted off of their shoulders. And then there was me - twiddling my thumbs - waiting for my turn when all I just wanted was to get in, get out and be free.

Freedom came eventually, however, and about an hour later, we were all given the good news. I was ecstatic and afterwards, we went for pancakes before going home and coming back out again for a good old knees up at one of my colleagues' homes.

It feels weird that I no longer have to go back there for my input sessions in the morning and my teacher practice in the afternoon. I no longer have any cause to barrage Carl with e-mails. I owe Sophia my life because she literally pulled me out of my shell. Standing on chairs became my 'thing' - my way of drawing attention to myself - and now I don't feel so nervous in front of a class anymore; a royal contrast to the way I felt when I first started teaching.

So the first stage has been completed. I've got my qualification (the certificate should surface in November at some point) and now I can go teach the world.

My advice to anyone about this course? Do it. It's bloody hard. There's always work to be done so put your life on hold. You will have your ups and your downs. You will cry. You will laugh. You will meet some awesome people. The tutors won't hold your hand in the slightest. They'll tell it to you straight, but by the end of it you'll be a better person and a better teacher ready to take on the world by storm..

Cert.TESOL - Week 3 - When Crunch-Time Comes Knocking

Week 3 Down!

I can’t believe I actually got through it. I spent the entire weekend last week freaking out about the one hour lessons. I was so very used to the teacher I’d had observing me in the previous week, that the concept of changing teachers – and changing classes – frightened me quite a lot. But I wasn’t due to teach my one hour lessons until the end of the week so I had time, which I was very grateful for.

A few new things happened to me this week. I actually managed to pre-prepare a lesson a day in advance. So, that’s either, a significant improvement – or a divine fluke. I had never experienced actually being ready for a lesson twenty-four hours in advance and it felt quite good.

At the same time, however, I had a major freak-out the day before that lesson when a colleague of mine told me how badly she’d been treated by one of the other teachers and how he had virtually told her that her lesson was a fail even before she’d taught it. This rattled me a great deal as I have this teacher observing me this coming week. I went home bricking it, but fortunately, I had two people on standby to put me back on track that night. The following day, one of them helped me go through my lesson before I taught it and even though my lesson was highly ambitious, I got through it and was awarded a merit. :D

At that stage, I felt very good. I went home smiling to myself and then proceeded to work on my next lesson. I penned about half of it that night and then penned the rest and its materials the day before I was due to have my lesson. So perhaps, I am improving. It took me days to plan my first thirty-minute lesson and even on the day, I wasn’t fully prepared. Now, it seems that I might be able to plan a full hour in three-to-four hours instead. The quality of the lesson, however, is debatable.

But while I seem to be getting to grips with lesson planning and being more comfortable in front of the class, this weekend is actually no joke. I’m used to having deadlines every day, but this weekend, I have triple the workload and the only reason why I’m able to write this blog entry is because I managed to pen my one-on-one lesson with my student who I am due to meet up with in two hours.

As part of this course, we’re assigned a foreign language student. We have to interview them, do a thorough evaluation of their language needs, do a one hour lesson with them and evaluate the progress of that lesson. I will have to write up that evaluation tonight in addition to writing up an overall evaluation of all the professional lessons I’ve watched, in addition to writing up an evaluation of progress from start to now, in addition to penning a lesson for Wednesday.

And that’s not even half of it….

This is just what I’ve set myself for today. So I’m telling you, it really is crunch time. Carl says that there are no more extensions this week. And even though I’ve never requested an extension yet, I’m really starting to feel it – contemplating how I’m going to get time to do everything asked of me by Thursday and still plan two lessons for next week.

But we’ve all been there. In university, I’d have friends dancing around me, panicking a few hours before an essay deadline because they hadn’t done any work. They all thought I had some manner of super-intelligence because I would often submit my essays or projects a week or so in advance. But I know that it wasn't genius at all. I just wanted it done! I didn’t want to look at it anymore and it’s the same way I feel now. I just want it done. And I know that by putting words onto paper with no real thought is a big risk – I do care that I pass after all - but I  just don’t want to look at the work anymore.

With a course like this, however, I don’t think you can afford to take your time over things. And I’m not saying that you should slack off, I’m saying you literally just don’t have the time. Because really and truly, there just aren’t enough hours in the day to slave over one piece of work when you got five more breaking down your bedroom door. It’s like an office mentality – get it done, be concise and do it quickly.

So my advice for anyone looking to do this course is, if you’re a procrastinator, you will struggle. Your teachers might be nice enough to give you extensions when they can, but it’s much better if you get yourself into gear or forget about doing the course in its entirety. I know of at least four people in the original line-up who couldn’t hack it. Two dropped off the course completely, one transferred to part time and incurred a fee and the other was unfortunate to fall ill and will be joining the next group.

I didn’t have much of a life before this course and during, I’ve spent a great deal of time in my living room with my laptop and classroom notes. It’s hard work, it’s brain and time-consuming, it’s sleep-draining, but in seven days I’m hoping to be two certificates heavier.

Wish me luck.

Cert.TESOL - Week 2 - When Delusions Come Knocking

So, I’m on my way home after a very long, very strenuous and very emotional week and as I’m standing in the crowded carriage dying to find my way home, I notice a fly buzzing about overhead. Now flies don’t bother me much (unless they’re hovering over food – or terrifying my friends) and how a fly managed to cycle safely through a carriage full of hot, sweaty workmen and women desperate to get home, I’ll never know. But ultimately, after swanning around, it settled onto the hand of a man standing in front of me. And rather than my first reaction being – how is it that this man cannot feel this beetle crawling all over him - I started to consider that maybe this was the part where it bit him and that tomorrow, he’d become England’s very own Spiderman.

Don’t worry. I haven’t lost my mind. I am, however, functioning on just three hours sleep and it is something that I have never done before. It does not compute how it is that I am functioning, but I assure you all that I am very close to nodding off as I write this.

TESOL has taught me a lot this week and it goes a lot deeper than lessons on grammar and lesson planning in general...

~

I believe the collocation* is delusions of grandeur.

For me, it would be ‘delusions of failure’. I’ve always had an issue with failing and it’s something that helps to define me as a person. Ultimately, however, I taught for the first time in my life this week and it was incredibly nerve-wracking. As part of the course, you need to teach six hours worth of lessons. I taught four lots of thirty minute lectures – so two hours ultimately. I thought that my first lesson went horribly. I taught prepositions and had been driving myself up the wall with worry as to how I would go about it. The lesson took me four days to plan, I criticised the hell out of myself and was awarded a merit**.

On my second teaching practice day, I hated my lesson and it showed. I was all over the place, dropping pens and constantly referring to my notes. In fact, I was so nervous that I kept thinking that the deodorant that I’ve been using for the past ten years – that has never failed me once – had actually stopped working. I was so disappointed in myself and reached an all time low. I criticised the hell out of my lesson and yet by some fluke, still managed to pass. For my third and fourth lessons, the same pattern emerged leading me to feel that truly I am my own worst enemy. I still say my lesson today was too easy for even pre-intermediate students – students who make you feel like you’re trying to draw blood out of a rock at times - but I managed to get through it and I’m so very grateful for the weekend even though I have a mountain of work to do.

Delusion Number One: I am a failure.

~

After teaching, we have a feedback session, where we all give each other positive and constructive criticism in order to help each other better ourselves. The tutor supervises and it’s all pretty well constructed. During my second lesson, however, I was so disappointed in myself that I broke down and made a fool of myself. Everyone was relatively sympathetic and as I mentioned earlier, the constant theme that rises during my feedback sessions is that I’m way too hard on myself. On the day of my third lesson, however, the printer broke down, meaning that the entire class was running around like headless chickens trying to find a way to print off work. I managed to print off most of what I needed and launched into my lesson, but a colleague of mine had a terrific breakdown and disappeared halfway through even though she was due to teach that day. On the same day, another colleague of mine received a low grade and went home feeling so down with herself that she emailed me expressing her desire to quit.

Now, I’m not the most sympathetic person. I tend to look at things logically at times and find it difficult to feel genuine sympathy at times even if I do identify. I mean, seriously, if a body fell from the sky and landed in front of me – after about two or three seconds of raw surprise, I’d probably phone an ambulance. A normal woman would probably have a seizure.

But both these colleagues felt completely at ease in confiding in me. And even though, it was strange for me, I held hands, hugged people in their time of need and offered encouraging words. Genuine as well. And I think, after this week, I’ve developed a few bonds in this place – people who I am genuinely grateful for and who I look forward to talking to, and who I don’t mind hugging even though two weeks ago we were perfect strangers. And even though, I don’t “awww” or twist my face into some method on console, I think I’ve discovered that in my own ‘logical’ way, I can identify with people on an emotional level and not just on the level of self-pity which I’m used to.

This therefore, brings me to this:

Delusion Number Two: I lack empathy

~

Now, I know for a fact that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. But you do. I do. We all do. We look at someone and think we know them based on their manner or the way they dress. We stereotype and make assumptions and this’ll usually define the way we behave towards them. You’re not gonna introduce yourself to the scrappy little vagabond who’s sitting by himself downing a large bottle of whisky at the party, are you? You’re gonna try and steal a glance at (or, if you’re brave, chat to) the cute/handsome/strapping/tall/leggy/busty…etc little something in the centre of the room.

At my school, we get people from all walks of life. I hear Spanish and Italian floating along the halls mostly and just like people in general, some are very nice and others go about their business. During my teaching practice lessons, I was pretty convinced that I could identify where everyone was from just by looking at them. I immediately expected that most students were from Europe. There was a guy with long hair that resembled a Columbian guy I used to work with. I tagged him as Spanish. Then, there was a rocker guy that always wore a set of headphones - thin frame, long hair - I tagged him as Japanese. Well, Spanish guy was actually from Thailand. And the Japanese guy was Peruvian. And all those European students were indeed Spanish speakers – all of whom were from South America.

Mind was blown.

Delusion Number Three: I know everything.

~

Just being on this course has opened my eyes to different things because as I may have mentioned in the past. I am completely out of my comfort zone. I'm an introvert by nature. I don't mind spending time alone. I have only a handful of people who I consider to be 'friend' - and I mean, truly - and I'm not as close to my family as I could be. This course has pretty much forced me in reverse. I can't hide in the back row like I might have done if this course had been shorter and less work-orientated. In fact, I actually don't want to. I talk to people a lot more and speak up in class even if my answers are incorrect.

I'm still a little uneasy, however. Don't worry. My confidence hasn't just materialised out of thin air. Standing in front of a class trying to elicit language and facing silence is still a bit of a fear for me. And next week, I'm planning hour-long lessons for different classes, which equally makes mel feel a little out of sorts because of what I've heard about these groups. Nevertheless, I'm gonna try and persevere anyway. I've said it myself. I'm already halfway there. Can't quit now.

Thus...

Delusion Number Four: I'm out of my depth

*a lexical term. Go TEFL.

**Can be fairly difficult to obtain. Obtaining a merit overall is by means of some unknown force for a newbie teacher.

Cert.TESOL - Week 1 - When Sleep Comes Knocking

This week, I started my Cert.TESOL course. I recall that it was a Tuesday morning and I was feeling relatively neutral. In my head, I was thinking that I was going to be the youngest one there for some reason. Maybe it was because the guy who interviewed me – let’s call him Matt - commented on the fact that I was young. Guess it made me think that he hadn’t taught younger people before. Silly rabbit.

When I got there, however, I came to find a variety of people. I haven’t actually asked anybody their ages but most of us are young with a few people who look to be over the age of thirty. There were a few uni graduates too and what was astounding was that a lot of them spoke all kinds of different languages. I was jealous. Spanish, Italian, French – I don’t even like French – but I wanted what they had; a window into another culture.

We have three teachers, including Matt, but aside from one lesson where I observed him teaching a class of foreign students, I haven’t seen him much. Out of all three of our teacher’s however, he intimidates me the most for some reason and I’m not sure why. He’s actually quite funny. When I observed him teaching, he had quite a way with the students. But he’s also, one of those guys who knows when to be serious as well. I respect this; I’m similar in that nature. But I still feel uneasy. I guess we’ll see what happens next week.

The guy who has been teaching us however, is equally funny. Let’s call him Carl. Carl can speak Japanese. You can also, tell his very passionate about phonetics which was a huge part of the course content this week. Some of the other students feel that Carl can be a bit cold, but I haven’t noticed that about him. Whenever I’ve attacked him with my questions, he’s always been okay to me so either I’m missing something or those other students are too sensitive…and this is coming from me as well.

The week was focused on phonetics – as mentioned earlier – teaching techniques and lesson planning, being put into the shoes of students through learning an unknown language and observing the professional lessons of Matt, Carl and our third teacher, Sophia. It was a lot of information, but for some reason, a great deal of it managed to sink in. I think it’s because a lot of it was interactive instead of having a teacher stand at the front and talk at me. Ah, university. The good ol’ days.

The only thing that baffled me a little was Concept Checking, which I’ve got to understand by tomorrow evening as I start my teaching practice next week. HOHSHIT!

As I’m being thrown out of my comfort zone, I make it my business to sit in a different place in class every day so I can speak to different people. I would highly recommend this for a course like this. Everyone’s in the same boat. Everyone’s feeling the same emotions and it cements the group more. So as antisocial as I can be at times, I’m saying “don’t be an outcast”. Integrate. It’s a good thing. My class is currently seventeen strong nonetheless. One girl dropped out, however, and one guy started late. I seriously feel for him because he didn’t have a laptop and we’ve had assignments to do every night. So he’s had to catch up.

And I tell thee…the homework is no joke. I’ve had a minimum of two assignments per night – three on the Wednesday evening – and per evening, I spent about five hours on them. Each night, my sleep has been on a steep decline and even as I write this, it feels like work.

 But then I’m extra and a bit of a perfectionist. I spoke with other people and they spent no more than three hours on their work per evening. Some even woke up in the morning to get on with their work. So I guess it’s true what they say – Every Situation Is Different.

Therefore,  my advice to you today is that if you intend to do this course or the CELTA or anything like it and you like your sleep, forget about it.

You will sleep less.

You will work hard.

And hopefully it’ll all be worth it in the end.

Lessons in Love

I have been single for over a year now and when I look back, it’s been nearly eight years since I entered into my first exclusive relationship. Since then, I’ve dated a variety of men – different shapes, sizes and backgrounds - and I've had many ups and downs. But I take each experience as a learning curb because each relationship or romance has taught me something which I feel will better prepare me when I’m ready to enter into something a little more long-term.

~

INJECT SPONTANEITY

I was sixteen going on seventeen when I entered into my first relationship. I look back and realise that it was probably one of the best that I had been in and I still say to this day that had both of us been older when we’d met, I probably would have married him. Nevertheless, we were kids. We lived at home (note: I still live at home) and we were broke. This seriously limited the kinds of things we could do so most of our time was spent at each others’ houses or going to see a movie. The ending was mutual. We were young. It wasn’t going to be forever. And while I can’t speak for him, I strongly desired a little ‘excitement’ because our relationship was fun, but very routine. I, therefore, think that a little spontaneity is necessary every once in a while.

KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO

My second excursion with the opposite sex wasn’t a relationship, but showed me just how naïve I was. The guy I got myself involved with described himself as ‘damaged goods’ which really was the first red flag. I would also, ask him ‘What is this?” and he could never answer. Enter the second. But I went along with it any way thinking for some stupid reason that I could help to change him. Instead, I came out of it emotionally distraught when he didn’t want to be with me anymore and it led me to realise that you really need to be on the same page. You need to want the same thing in order for whatever it is to work. Because if one person’s looking for a good time and the other is looking for something more serious, somebody’s gonna get burned.

DON’T DATE THE REBOUND GUY!

For all those not in the know, the Rebound Guy or Girl is the person who’s just come out of a long-term relationship and is looking for someone else to compensate for that loss. The likelihood is they may be physically into you, but emotionally, their head and their heart are still with that ex-partner, whether they still love them or not. Ultimately, Rebound Folk shouldn’t be looking to be in a relationship, nor should they be dating. They should be spending time with themselves in order to heal and to grieve properly for the lost relationship and/or partner. Needless to say, my relationship with the Rebound Guy didn’t last very long as I realised that once again, we were not on the same page.

INTERFAITH RELATIONSHIPS DO NOT WORK

So before you double-take, triple-blink and what have you, I have heard of many instances where it has worked and more power to them, but after dating a devout Muslim, I have made the decision that I will never date another Muslim again. Now I’m a huge advocate of interracial and intercultural relationships (note: this doesn’t mean I hate black men) so when I got involved with him, I made it a priority to understand his faith better as it was clearly important to him. I did some research online and would feed him back my questions, but ultimately, whenever we would discuss an aspect of his faith, it would nearly always lapse into an argument. Perhaps it wasn’t just an interfaith thing, nonetheless but also, too large a cultural disparity because while his family were quite male-centric, mine are more female-specific. Ultimately, it was his faith and his ideologies – some of which I didn’t agree with – which drew it to an end eventually, and I look back on it now and realise that it was probably a bad idea to get involved with him in the first place.

LONG-DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS ARE A GAMBLE

And rightfully so. I met the Long-Distance Guy in my home country initially but then he went back home. We had gotten quite attached to each other and I even flew out there to see him. But when I came back, things were just really difficult, emotionally draining and in the end, we called it quits. The irony is that both of us had done this before – albeit under different circumstances – and had seen it crash and burn, so to try it again was pretty foolish. I feel that they generally do not work, but I know of some cases where it has worked, which is why I feel that in order for them to go the long haul, both partners will a) need to have know each other for a great deal of time before the distance occurs and b) ensure the distance isn’t permanent (or as good as). Either Long Distance Guy or Girl will be coming back some day soon or you intend to join them at some point down the line. What I am most certain of, however, is that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to endure a long-distance relationship again.

~

The pattern in all these relationships, if you will, is that they were all short term; none saw a year. And while I know that it may be a product of living in the west where the values are a lot more relaxed, it may have also, been because of my limited knowledge of what constitutes a relationship and not knowing precisely what would work for me and how much I could tolerate. I’ve actually repeated some of the mistakes I’ve made so I guess lessons aren’t always learnt, but as I am now, if I was searching for a relationship, I think I’d be able to look at this as an evaluation of where I, myself, might have gone wrong.

I foresee myself being single for a lot longer, however, as I intend to travel abroad and as you know, long-distance relationships just don’t seem to cut it for me. For anyone who may have found themselves unlucky in love, however, I’d say take the opportunity to search for patterns in your relationship history. They may be more obvious than you realise and as with me, certain things may not be working for you. Take every relationship – romantic or otherwise – as a lesson. Life is full of them.

Inside The Belly of the Beast

Yesterday, I watched this show*: 

In recent years, there’s been an influx of weight-loss and healthy eating programs in order to combat the fact that the United Kingdom has been statistically proven as the fattest nation in Europe. What’s more is that it’s been predicted by scientists that if we don’t sort ourselves out now, half the nation will be overweight and the number of elderly people with cancer with treble by 2040. Frightening stuff.

As a person who has a bit of a fear of dying – and dying painfully – I try to take care of myself. I love the gym and when I walk home having done a tasty piece of hard graft, I get a nice little buzz.  Nevertheless, I’m not perfect. I have my relapses. Takeaways on payday have become common recently and I like me the odd cake or sweet drink once in a while. I don’t eat nearly as much fruit as I should and even though my weekly exercise routine consists of three 90 minute workouts at the gym and an hour getting’ down at zumba, over the past few months, this has began to decline. When I’m ill, the decline is steeper, but I’m fortunate because while not as disciplined with myself as I know I can be, I’m aware of my shortfalls and find ways to compensate for them.

Back in 2003, however, when I was my heaviest – a girl of fifteen; hardly a size 14 and yet not quite a 16 – I hadn’t a clue. My mum had just started fixing her own eating habits and yet I was piling on the pounds; I even weighed more than her at one point.

During my primary school days, I was the skinny kid who could pack it away. I remember lunchtime. Juniors were split into 'First and Second Dinners' on a rotary basis. When you were in for Second Dinners, there was a chance you could get seconds or even thirds. And then there was Christmas dinner - big stuff in my family - because not only did we have turkey, but we had beef, pork, chicken, fish, stuffing, Yorkshire pudding, mountains of gravy…etc. And I would put all of it and extras away with absolutely no problem whatsoever. I was a kid who enjoyed feeling stuffed beyond logic - bursting even; the kind of ‘stuffed’ where you have to lay down afterward because the concept of sitting up was too uncomfortable and ‘walking it off’ was about as far a thought away as my gut was.

So what I’m thinking is that I had taken my childhood eating habits into an adolescent body thinking it would be okay. But of course, it wasn’t. Because there was one thing that had changed between primary school and secondary school and that was the amount of exercise I was getting.

In primary school, I’d run around the playground, mess about on the climbing frame, the monkey bars…etc. In secondary school there was no apparatus. In my first year, however, I remember running around the school grounds playing a game of “it” and being yelled at by an older girl for doing exactly what I should have been doing – running around and exercising. But as I got older, 'exercising' was substituted for queuing up for the tuck shop, sitting on the wall and having a chat or messing about on the computers in the library after school.

By Year 9, I began to mature and the weight was piling on. My face had a mass of spots on it and I began to hate the way I looked. By Year 10, I would whinge to my mum who would tell me what I needed to do to shift the weight – and yet it seemed to go in one ear and out the other. I didn’t understand why I had to change my eating habits; they’d always worked for me.

So I tried dieting. The first diet I tried was the Slim Fast diet. This lasted about a week. Substituting two meals for a can of liquid just didn’t cut it for me. I felt hungrier than usual and miserable. The next diet I tried was the Atkin’s Diet. My mum and even my aunt (who really had nothing to shift really; she’s always been thin) tried this diet and I have got to say that it worked. I was going strong for two weeks, cutting the carbs, scarfing the meat and dropping pounds, until my aunt became physically sick. Mum had read somewhere that apparently the Atkin’s diet can affect your kidneys so, not wanting to suffer as my aunt had, I stopped that diet and the weight went back on as expected.

Ultimately, the turnaround for me was a program called Paul McKenna Will Make You Thin. For me, it was one of the first programs I’d watched about legitimate weight-loss and it basically taught me to stop snacking on rubbish – I was addicted to chocolate for many years - to reduce portion size – seconds and thirds gone – and to drink water because not only does it contain no calories whatsoever, but it also, has a way of telling you whether you’re genuinely hungry or whether that pang in your stomach just means you were thirsty all along.

So I started off small and cut out chocolate for three weeks setting my reward date as Easter Sunday. Easter came and in tradition, mum had bought me an Egg. Even though I ate it, nonetheless, I realised that I really didn’t have to. I no longer craved chocolate in the same way as I once had while at secondary school. And even now at twenty-four, I don’t buy chocolate bars anymore and may only have chocolate in the form of a slice of cake at a restaurant or in the form of a biscuit.

In my freshman year of university, after having paid £150 for a year long membership to the gym - and having not gone for half a year - I slapped myself something fierce and proceeded to put Paul McKenna into action - properly. University is freedom when you're a student. I had a loan and a grant and bulk shopped every month. I would spend between £60 - £80 on groceries and £20 alone went towards sugar-infested drinks – Coke Cola, Ribena (the one you dilute with water), Lemonade, Cranberry juice** etc. I substituted the whole lot for four large bottles of water which collectively cost me £3. The snacks and biscuits and takeaways all went and I controlled my eating to three meals a day only. I went to the gym three times a week*** and five months later, I’d dropped a dress size. I hadn’t been a size 12 in forever.

So when I tuned into Secret Eaters last night, I couldn’t help but think about my old eating habits. The show looks into the lives of families who haven’t a clue why they may be overweight or aren’t losing weight. Sometimes a family isn't aware of what they’re doing while others just mightn’t be able to admit it to themselves that they do overeat. These people are given names for example, the Mealtime Magpie, described as the type of person who doesn’t like to see food go to waste and will therefore finish everything up; or the One Meal Wonder, who is the type of eater that tends to eat one meal a day, but due to hunger may overeat in that one sitting and over-compensate for the food not eaten during the day.

I was the Comfort Eater. I ate food that was hanging around out of boredom mostly or stress and especially tucked into snacks on a Friday after school, spending most of the night at the computer. I recall I had a set up; some manner of fizzy drink or something high in sugar - usually a bottle - and two or three packets of chocolates - Minstrels were my favourite. Note: I would eat and drink this on top of my dinner.

Nowadays, I’m a bit more savvy and a bit more opinionated when it comes to weight loss and weight gain. I know how big of an influence the media can be, whether positive or detrimental. But even now as a size 14 again, I want to be slimmer. At the same time, however, I don’t desire to be stick thin – I want to settle back at that size 12 simply because a) I’ve been a size 12 before and b) I don’t want to lose my curves – definitely culturally specific. I have a strong dislike of fad diets and diet pills, and actually had every intention of ranting about them here, but found this instead, which sums up my feelings perfectly.

My eating habits and such are far from ideal, nonetheless. I have yet to master the balanced lifestyle that I would like and I prefer to cut out temptation by NOT having certain things in the fridge or carrying less money. Eight years ago, I would have turned my nose up at this notion, but all one really needs is to eat well, beast less and exercise regularly.

* Channel4 ©

**Sometimes I’d mix them. Colabena anyone?

***I once did a seven-day streak, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that.

Bashing The Word

I would describe myself as a relatively open-minded person. Relatively, because there are just some things that I won’t compromise on, but such is life. I can talk or be talked to about a range of topics and even if they don’t interest me, I might try to understand it or make like I’m trying to understand it. If it’s important to someone I care about or maybe even someone I’ve just met, then 9 times out of 10, I’ll engage it. There is just one topic however, that I find very uncomfortable:

Religion.

I believe it was the movie Big Fish where this quote surfaced:

“It’s rude to talk about religion. You never know who you’re going to offend.”

Religion is a very common topic here, nevertheless, and ranges from people preaching in the streets to those who attempt to spread the word by knocking on your front door.

I believe some sort of law was implemented in which Jehova’s Witnesses were prohibited from knocking on doors, but you still get the odd one of two. The law can’t be everywhere unfortunately, but I’m grateful that the numbers have drastically decreased.

Don’t get me wrong. I was raised on Christian beliefs. I celebrate Christmas, sometimes Lent and the like. I understand that the bible dictates that Christians should ‘spread the word’. But I’ve found over the years that a handful of the Christians that I’ve encountered have a rather passive-aggressive way of spreading this word and it’s something that I do not like.

I would describe myself as Agnostic. There might be a God; there might not be, but personally, I feel that it shouldn’t be anyone else’s decision to look into faith and religion, but my own.

A customer I dealt with today asked me if I went to church. I said no. Outside of a christening, a wedding or a funeral, I don’t go to church. So she felt the need to drop me a magazine, which I know I will not read. On another occasion, a Muslim woman asked me if I was Christian. I said no. She then began to encourage me to pick up a Qu’ran. I explained my standpoint to her, but she just wasn’t having it and I tend to find that whenever I try to explain myself, they just won’t have it. These people just don’t seem to respect my difference of opinion, and while I don’t hold it against anyone for having a contrasting opinion to my own, I really think that some people of faith – passionate about said faith as they may be – should take a step back and focus on the people that are genuinely interested, genuinely ready or actually desire to gain a faith or convert.

Maybe they hear ‘agnostic’ and think that I’m lost, but I’m not lost dammit! I’m just not ready to go on that journey yet.

One of my closest friends is a devout Christian and she respects this about me just as I respect that her faith is a big part of her. And I know it’s not every person of faith, but why is it so difficult for certain others to grasp?

I tend to find that this happens moreso with Christianity. I’ve never seen a Jew go around Torah bashing, or Sikhs going around Guru Granth Sahib bashing. But it leads me to wonder if they might preach if they were in greater numbers here; the UK is obviously a Christian country. Even Buddhism seems a bit more laid back, but again, the number of Buddhists in the UK is very small.

I wonder if it might be too much to ask people of faith to step outside themselves for a bit. Continue to maintain your faith. It’s important to you and I respect that, but try to understand why others may choose not to have one or may not be sure if there’s any point in having one.

Some people may feel that the purpose of our existence is to procreate and yet another friend of mine refuses to have children because of the horrors that exist in the world. Her decision. Not gonna hold it against her.

Ultimately, however, I think that it’s all down to respect. Respect the believer, the unsure and the non-believer because we’re all people; we’re all human together. If one can’t exercise that, however, I guess another compromise would be to agree to disagree and leave it at that.