Category Archive for ‘Learning’ at Students 2.0

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Experiential Learning: The Day of Silence

Published by Anthony Chivetta on May 6, 2008 in Learning. 4 Comments

I would like to share with you an experience that I have found to be deeply rewarding. For the last two years I have participated in the GLSEN’s Day of Silence. I started participating last minute and on a whim two years ago when I was offered a “Day of Silence Participant” button by a member of our school’s Gay-Straight Alliance.

The stated purpose of the day is to call attention to hate speech and its silencing effects on GLBT students. In this sense, the day is an activist event. For me, this is a noble cause taking the admirable form of self-sacrifice. Even if this was the only reason to participate, I would gladly do so.

The Day of Silence is founded on the premise that the ability for GLBT students to express themselves is restricted by hate speech. And so, we voluntarily restrict our own ability to express ourselves to symbolize this silencing. However, the Day of Silence isn’t just an opportunity for activism, it is an exercise in understanding for the participants.

There are some experiences that are simply eye-opening and I count participating in the Day of Silence among one of those experiences. Before participating, I had no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to not be able to express oneself. I had taken my ability to interject through speech for granted and giving up that ability made me see the value that it holds. We, quite simply, do not fully appreciate the value of verbal expression.

While I can’t vouch for the accuracy of the reproduction of hateful oppression found in participating in the day of silence, I can say that it is simply an indescribably educational experience. I learned something that cannot be expressed in words and cannot be taught, I learned something intimate about my relationship with the world around me.

A Day of Silence is something I wish everyone would experience, regardless of the cause. It is an opportunity for learning experientially that I feel no one can afford to miss.

We should always be on the lookout for opportunities where students can learn by experiencing: not only by doing, but by feeling.

Gay-Straight Alliance logo
Photo by Sifter on Flickr

Three Lessons from High School

Published by Anthony Chivetta on April 28, 2008 in Learning. 8 Comments

I recently gave a talk to my high school titled “Three Lessons from High School”. As a senior who will be graduating, I took the opportunity to share with my school the things I learned during my journey from a freshmen struggling to stay in school to the reasonably successful senior I am today. I hope that you might enjoy my video of the presentation (9 minutes) below.

Continue reading ‘Three Lessons from High School’

The Necessity Family Tree

Published by Nelson Zhang on April 21, 2008 in Learning. 4 Comments

As a student at an international school, I’m used to seeing technology proliferate everywhere it can within the classroom. Every day I use computer labs, SmartBoards, online classrooms, and a plethora of other high-tech applications. It’s hard not to take the miracle of technology for granted; after all, we are in the Information Age, aren’t we?

True. But who exactly are “we”? As it turns out, not everyone is as lucky.

This past Thursday, I brought a few other members of my school’s tech club to a local school on the outskirts of Shanghai. Our school had assigned us the task of buying, building, and setting up a network of basic desktop computers for the local school. However, when we walked into their computer lab, we decided that this wasn’t going to be easy. The school already had several decade-old computers, but only five still worked. A couple of them had been opened for the students to take a look at its innards; one computer lay, smashed, in the corner of the room. Even a few of the power outlets were clogged with dirt. On the walls, above the blackboards, were written two sentences in Chinese: “Computers help us learn” and “The Internet makes the world a smaller place.”

I was told by the parents who organized the project that the students here learned about computers from mere drawings on the chalkboard, and the occasional use of one of the functional desktops. The local teachers we talked with refused to accept laptops, which was what we planned to buy. They said that laptops would very likely be stolen by students—they couldn’t blame them, they said; these children are in a desperate situation, and the money they could make from selling a stolen laptop would be like a fortune.

The visit to the local school was a shocking removal from our wireless networks and Facebook conversations and live streams of soccer matches. The stark contrast between a school filled with technology in every corner and a classroom with 2-dimensional chalk computers made me wonder: Why do we use so much technology in our classrooms? Where did it all come from?

Though we’re high school students now, we’ve probably been in contact with all sorts of digital technology since we were toddlers. I remember the first time I used a computer. I was only 4 years old, and a couple days later I double clicked the “Internet Explorer” sign and discovered the astonishing (but also, undoubtedly, dangerous) Internet. True, it may have simply been Pokemon websites and Magic School Bus games at first, but there are cases even where children learn MS-DOS at the age of 5. There is no denying it—we have been in touch with computers for our whole lives, and the only idea we have of life before the PC is from our parents’ dated anecdotes.

But stop and think for a moment: Why? Why does technology progress and proliferate so quickly? Why are we so dependent on it? What is the reason behind its profound ubiquity? The answer is short, but sweet. You could find it in a dictionary.

[Technology is] the specific methods, materials, and devices used to solve practical problems.

There it is. We use technology because we need it. We need Facebook and MSN Messenger because they help us communicate; we need SmartBoards because whiteboards can’t display information at the speed we demand; we need online classrooms because one hour lessons just don’t cut it anymore.

A million years ago, cavemen would probably have been pondering the same question (although “technology” would have been replaced with “the wheel”), and come to the same conclusion on their cave-blogs. Two hundred years ago, the same question would have been asked of the Industrial Revolution.

No matter from what angle you look at technology, whether it comes in the form of the Internet or the steam engine, the old adage comes to mind: “Necessity is the mother of invention.” And in the case of the local school, their necessity is about to “give birth,” courtesy of our school’s tech club.

Photo by mac steve on Flickr
Photo by tehtopo on Flickr

Should an 18 Year Old Really Know What They’re Going to Do For the Rest of Their Life?

Published by Stacy on April 4, 2008 in Learning. 29 Comments

A couple months ago, this exchange occurred between me and one of my parents’ co-workers, whom I shall call “J”.

“So, what do you want to do in college?” J asked me, right after we were introduced.

“Well,” I hedged, “I plan to sleep in, hang out with friends, and watch shadows elongate.” Pause. There was no flicker of recognition in J’s eyes; my sarcasm went over his head. “Um, basically—not much.”

J looked at me in askance. “I mean, what do you want to do?”

And this was when the College/What Are You Going To Do With the Rest Of Your Life? Interrogation started. Believe me, after going through this numerous times—it deserves its All Caps status. (My most sincere apologies to Strunk Jr and White, may you guys R.I.P. and not, you know, haunt me from the grave or anything.)

There’s something about one’s last two years of high school that dictates that any conversation you have with an adult, may it be your relatives or a near-perfect stranger in the supermarket, has to revolve around college. Once they know that you’re a senior or a junior in high school, the interrogation begins.

It’s a rite of passage.

It’s also a nuisance.

By November, I’ve mastered the art of listing all my ten colleges in one breath in order of preference. From Bryn Mawr and NYU to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor.*

Which is not to say that I haven’t been guilty of using college as a convenient conversation starter because “So, how about ‘em Yankees?” is too overdone and cliché. Even so, this doesn’t make it any less annoying to 16-18 year olds everywhere.

“I’ll probably major in Anthropology and maybe minor in East Asian Studies–Japanese or Chinese.”

“Ah, Anthropology, huh? Like Indiana Jones!”

“… Uh, no.”

For most, this also involves a lot of nodding and glazed expressions when I try to explain the difference between Anthropology and Archeology. Occasionally, someone will ask what I will do career-wise, and I’ve learned by now that there’s really no good way to say “not a clue” without sounding like an idiot.

Because I honestly don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life after college and grad school.

I envy my friends who know exactly what they want to do, because I still haven’t got the slightest idea. My plan is to take a lot of different classes in college and pretty much wing it, for lack of a better word. I’ll figure out where I want to go from there. Currently, I plan to major in Anthropology and minor in East Asian Languages (Mandarin Chinese). What I end up doing after college? No idea—even if I stick with Anthropology and Chinese for the next four years. I’m a fickle person and I’m interested in many things—creative writing, political science, international relations, history, languages, etc. The sky’s the limit.

It still amazes me though, how as students we’re expected to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives. Every time someone asks, I always have to smother a mad giggle—I’m so indecisive that it takes me fifteen minutes to decide what flavor of ice cream I want from Ben & Jerry’s—and they want me to tell them what I’ve decided to do for the rest of my life? It’s laughable. I can’t pretend I know what I want to do when most of my college friends have changed majors at least once during their time in Academia Land and knowing that there is a reason behind why many adults go back to school so they can change careers.

Maybe it’s a generational thing: in the past, there weren’t as many options for high school graduates but with more and more students going to college, there’s more of a disconnection. Yet there’s still the expectation from adults for us to know what we’re going to do with our lives by th time we’re 16-18.

For students who know exactly what their future profession is and are dead-set on pursuing their dreams, I want to say that envy them more than words can say.

However, for students like me who are still trying to figure things out, I wonder if this expectation will ever become less of an issue and burden as more students choose to pursue education beyond high school.

*I didn’t end up applying to all those colleges. After a certain point, all the paperwork just made me want to hide under my desk for all of eternity. As of March 21st 2007, however, I’m now a Bryn Mawryter so all’s well that ends well (theoretically-speaking).

Photo by Franco Folini on Flickr

The Well of Inspiration

Published by Kaelie Giffel on March 9, 2008 in Learning. 19 Comments

The students of Students 2.0 would like to extend a warm welcome to Kaelie Giffel, our newest author. Please enjoy her debut post below.

Inspiration is a fickle thing. Sometimes it hits you like a truck, and other times it swerves off the road to avoid you. I know an art teacher who has a quote about inspiration on his wall as a rule: “Inspiration is lazy. Don’t wait for it.” That has been my inspiration, my drive to continue writing even through the stress of high school.

Writing in high school is like walking through a mine field without getting hurt—it’s difficult, but possible. I find myself making difficult decisions regarding how to spend my time. I have a constant homework load, because of my AP social studies class, and it isn’t something I can put off for a night. It always comes back to haunt me in a failing quiz grade. So, I use class time to write. It took me a few weeks to figure out that English class is the dead zone for writing (much like the dead zone for electronics in Siberia). American literature is bad enough for my brain cells, let alone my creativity.

Everyone in high school has some sort of creative outlet: music, books, writing, athletics, science. (The last two may not seem creative, but I’ve utilized both; they take a different kind of creativity.) Writing and music are the most common. In the middle of writing Tarot Cards and Black Roses, my first novel, someone said something to me that put a halt to the book’s production. She said, “You’re a writer? I am, too! We should share our work!” In that second, the cold truth hit me: I’m not the only teenage writer in the world.

It was an odd thought, because it sounded so general, but it in my mind it was specific. I didn’t mean bloggers, poets, or young journalists; I meant the supernatural writers who delved into the darker part of the world. The thought hurt. It really did. How was I so stupid? Why did I believe that I was unique? My beloved story became just a really big file on my computer that I refused to tend to.

I sulked for two months, trying to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t as unique as I thought I was. At the end of the two months, I got my butt into gear. I wasn’t the only student writer trying to get published, but that was a horrible excuse to use for not writing. I needed to get over myself because the sweet seductress inspiration was calling to me. I was unique because I was fulfilling my dream. I could write a novel and finish it. I had the drive and the endless encouragement of my support network.

Never in my life has someone straight up told me I couldn’t do something. All my friends and relatives want me to be a writer. They think it’s a very good possibility for my career. My dad’s favorite question is, “How’s that novel coming?” Even my teachers have encouraged me. Except once. Early in the year, I told my teacher (in response to a question she asked) that I wanted a career in creative writing. The look she gave me said everything I knew she wouldn’t say aloud. It was a look that whispered, Abandon your dream. That’s not going to happen. That broke my heart. After that day, I picked up my writing with a vengeance.

The best way to motivate a stubborn person is to tell them they can’t. Because they will do exactly what you told them they couldn’t and they will exceed previous expectations. I continued my novel for one reason: to prove I could. That mindset is what propels me through the novel, even when my well of inspiration has dried.

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