Students spooking a colleague on Halloween.

Go home!

The moment classes concluded and students spilled out into the hallway, the Taiwanese administrators hollered, “Go home! Min, go home! Benjamin, go home!”

Yikes. I wondered what the students had done to piss off Anna, one of the administrators. She barked like a sergeant dressing down her ranks.

“Go home Bobo! Go home Rich!” In response, students sprinted out the door with monstrous bookbags draped over their bony shoulders.

This scene repeated not only at the end of the night, but at the end of every class—scenes of chaos in which students emptied out of classrooms, barked-at students scrambled to get out, other students lingered to chat or wait for their sibling, and teachers—moi—struggled against the stream to use the toilet.

There was also a constant “ding-dong” beeping. I realized that it was the students’ parents who buzzed the front desk to let them know to send their child out. That’s why Anna stood positioned at the door shouting for students to “Go home!”

Posing for best Halloween costume.

I sang.

A lot. In preparation for the school’s Halloween party, each class would go trick-or-treating to other classrooms and sing for their treat. We teachers had been ordered to give exactly one piece of small, hard candy to each student. Administrators had calculated the exact number of candies to fill our treat bags, so we could not dole out more pieces.

I rehearsed the song, “Halloween Rules” with every class for three weeks ramping up for our singing performance. Although I had previously taught primary grades in Thailand, it occurred during Covid-19 closures and so we conducted lessons via Zoom. While I did play grammar videos for my students, I was not primarily obligated to carry the tune since I had video assistance.

In this case, unfortunately, I did have to carry the tune. I didn’t let my students off the hook with mumbling through the song, because I did not want to be the only one singing the actual verses in front of the other classes. I had to uphold my reputation as a teacher to my fellow colleagues!

Sweet handmade notes from my students.

Halloween Party Time

My boss informed teachers and administrators to dress up in costumes. Since I didn’t want to fork out Taiwanese dollars on a costume I’d promptly toss in the garbage, I looked at my wardrobe for inspiration: Cat Woman. All black suited my taste perfectly. I added a homemade cat-eye mask and my costume—aka—what I wear to bed à la black long-sleeved shirt and black pants—was complete.

Some of my colleagues showed up in street clothes, intending to change into their costumes at school. When I ran into Mark, one of the teachers, I assumed the dark bags around his eyes was due to being out late the night before. In fact, he had smudged his eyes to prepare for his final costume as a caveman. Another teacher chose to appear as a vampire doctor: she cleverly dressed in full scrubs, an askew surgery cap, her face powdered Geisha-white, with blood drizzled on her mouth.

We staggered our trick-or-treating time slots so that we weren’t criss-crossing in the halls and trying to sing to empty rooms. My class would perform last, which meant at some point during our lesson, one of the other classes would come and sing to us. Some students and their parents went to great lengths to create Broadway-worthy professional costumes. We welcomed a couple of adorable anime characters, an authentic Wednesday Addams, and a Harry Potter.

The benefit of going last was being to watch other classes perform their songs. Some classes sung better than others; the older students were bored and aloof. I felt encouraged about my own class’ ability to sing with verve and in tune.

Sweet handmade notes from my students.

It was our turn to trick-or-treat.

I paraded my students like a proud stage mother from class-to-class. My students sang all the verses in synch and in harmony. The other teacher handed out one piece of candy per student. When we returned to our classroom, I happened to peek into one of my student’s trick-or-treat bags and counted four pieces of candy.

It was a stark contrast to my memories of trick-or-treating in the US, receiving two-three-four pieces of candy per house. And not small, hard candies, but bags of peanut M&M’s, Butterfingers, Snickers, Kit Kats. Upon returning home, my sister and I would heave our nearly full bag of candies onto our beds to compare and start swapping for our favorites.

Luckily, my students didn’t have anything to compare their experience against, so they were ecstatic to receive four pieces of hard candies; candies that in the US, we presented to our parents as cough drops.

Sweet handmade notes from my students.

I kept singing.

A couple of weeks into the term, I received a new kindergarten class to my schedule. The head teacher wrote my lesson plan for me. I noticed at least four singing sections. For a two-and-a-half hour class, it provided necessary breaks to let the children release their energy and bounce around.

We sang the ABC song, the counting song, the clean-up song, and an activity song. I never sang so much in my life. There were two students—a boy and a girl—who continually provoked the other. While we sang, they would run around pushing and pinching each other. I became both goalie and referee, blocking them from crashing into walls and also preventing them from harming themselves and their classmates. A kindergarten mosh pit is a tough place.

Sweet handmade notes from my students.

I woke up to whipping winds.

An hour later, thrashing rain pelted down sideways. Our landlord nailed boards to the entrance windows. Businesses remained closed, with locked metal doors. I followed the weather report, which correctly predicted a typhoon lashing our city.

Images on the news showed ripped off rooves, trees cracked in half, and tenants stranded on broken balconies. I was astonished and in awe of Mother Nature.

My boss sent me a message informing me to stay home. If I had showed up to school, I’m certain Anna would’ve roared, “Go home teacher!”