With every student I work with, I always ask them to read through Turning the Tide as thoroughly as possible before the first session. So far, few students read through it from front to back and are perfectly ready for the in-depth discussion by the beginning of the lesson; such students are a rare breed. And as rare as they are, working together with them brings me an absolute joy and makes my day.
Some students give it at least a try, if they do not understand it fully; I appreciate the efforts they have put into it, and I try my best to help them. And of course, some others attempt to pull off a time-tested trick that they honed through their high school life—that is, “I’ve read it but I don’t remember much.” Thankfully, most of them seem to have a change of heart by the end of the first lesson, and by the next meeting, they are ready and armed with a barrage of questions about the material.
Then there are a select few who would rather sabotage their entire college admission than to accept that they have some deeply rooted issues, something that they have to work on.
As the premise of the blog goes, I have seen things as a private tutor that many people would have never imagined. And sometimes, I feel that I may have finally seen them all. Maybe I have come across all the bad apples already, and I should stop being all jaded and pessimistic. Of course, soon after, one of the newer students proves me that I’m thoroughly wrong.
The student in question wrote in their practice essay that they wanted to utilize the knowledge they picked up from studying for the International Physics Olympiad. Their argument for the importance of pursuit of knowledge was somewhat convincing. So I let my guard down—foolishly, in retrospect. Sure, learning is a joyful activity, as Confucius said. Whom were they going to share the joy of learning with?
The war refugees who recently fled their own country, they said. Apparently, the refugees were the ones that “desperately need to learn physics the most.” And since “the whole world’s attention was on [those people]”, it would be a “great chance” for the student to “show the world” what an ex-Olympiad contestant was capable of.
I had to do a double take at the student’s bio, just to check if I mistook an 11-year-old with an 11th grader. (Chronic insomnia does wonders on one’s reading comprehension.) Needless to say, I felt sorry for all the 11-year-olds I inadvertently insulted with my doubt.
I always tell my students during the very first lessons that they must be mindful of who will be reading their résumés, however obvious it should be. And yet, every other student decided to throw out the template I provided and bring me a 5-page “résumé” of their own format.
Curiously, every single one of them had 0.3 inch page margins; single-spaced 8.5 pt Times New Roman body; and about a dozen extra activities that they decided not to include in their college applications, which allow the maximum of 10 activities. I can only imagine that there is actually a separate template that is shared among the students of a few “prestigious” high schools, with the arcane knowledge of crafting unreadable résumés being passed down the generations.
What boggles my mind, though, is why do they ever think it’s a good idea, evenafter I tell them to think seriously about who’d be reading their crap. I’m not sure if their sheltered lives or detachment from reality alone can explain it. Who do they think is their intended audience? An AI resume parser? A magical sorting hat? A college admission fairy?
They say that once is a mishap; twice, a coincidence; and thrice, a pattern.
If so, what would be the right word to describe the phenomenon that all except three students in the last 12 months attempted to book the Zoom meetings at my 4am, knowing that there is a 13- to 14-hour offset across the time zones?
You said you are incredibly thankful and lucky to have known me, but it is really I who should be thankful and honored to have worked with you. As a tutor, all I do is to bring the best out of my students; and the very best you are. You deserve everything you got. Students like you make this soul-sucking and thankless job worthwhile for me. Never stop being curious, earnest, and compassionate. And when you can, please pass down the torch and make the world a little better place.
I wonder what made you think it'd be a good idea to write that COVID-19 was “the best thing ever happened to [your] academic success and future career prospect.” Almost 7 million people worldwide were officially confirmed to have been killed by the pandemic, and the unofficial estimate goes up to 16 to 28 million deaths. Then you had the audacity to ask what does that have to do with you. I'm genuinely worried about the future, if you are the top of the class from one of the best high schools in the nation.
Me: “Okay, but it reads a bit offensive to prepend the word 'poor' every single time you mention 'public school students' in your writing.”
Kid: “But it's true. Public school students are poor. My school teacher told me it's an important detail.”
Me: “Er, you said you were applying to Yale. Look up the info about the current dean of admissions. I hope that'd give you something to reflect upon. Is there anything else you can think of?”
Kid: “I! AM! THINKING! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO THINK ABOUT?!“
A student once told me proudly about the time they organized a public fundraiser for children in Africa. They sold the handcrafted goods and proceeded to donate the literal tithe out of the profit; there was not a tinge of shame in their voice when they told me that the other nine-tenth went into their own pocket. They were also thoroughly confused when I told them that it would be a very bad idea to write about it in their college applications.
Hey kid, I'm sorry that I was unreasonably angry when I thought you were disregarding the instructions. Now I know that you were never given a chance to think on your own and had no clue what to do. You were always courteous and grateful, something I rarely saw from the students I've taught. And by the end, you improved a lot, both in the ability to write a proper prose and to think in the shoes of those who are less fortunate. I hope you are able to find the freedom you desperately wanted.