Every time I hear the word push, I can only think of one person.
I don’t necessarily hate my library teacher, but I used to laugh just as hard as those who actually did. Her looks are typical of high school teachers: a big lady with a boy-cut hairstyle. Her smile, though genuine (if you look beyond the red lipstick stain on her teeth), is the kind that reminds you of an annoying relative who loves to talk at the top of her lungs about things no one is interested about. Her voice commanded attention but not respect. I remember how she talked on and on about Tigris and Euphrates, how the earliest civilization began on these two rivers, which is an interesting story through and through except that nobody wanted to listen, which made me feel kind of bad. She was one of the nicest ladies I’ve ever met, always helpful when you need reference materials for your thesis. She loved her books, and she loved hanging out in the library even if it meant being alone.
Mondays usually meant library class for freshmen students. I love reading, but not the kind of reading that she made us do. She used to ask us to bring newspapers to class, find the longest article in that issue, and make us read as much as we can for one minute. It was the longest minute of my life, because in the background you could hear nothing but her booming voice shouting “left-right-left-right-left-right-push” over and over until the words stick in your head and you realize that you’ve been stuck reading the exact same word over and over for the last 20 seconds. The more she said “push,” the slower I trudged on. Funny how I could still hear her in my head as I write this entry; and I could still sense her eyes on my back, watching me closely, making sure that my head is transfixed on my newspaper and my pointing finger is tracing the lines of what I’m reading.
As soon as her imaginary stopwatch stopped, she would make us count how many words we’ve read and tally it against our score the previous week. Speed reading, she would say, is what makes smart people smart. In fear of public humiliation, we would always try to squeeze in as much words as we can in our little brains (there were a good number of us who didn’t resort to cheating), regardless of whether we understood the article or not. I hated that activity, and pretty soon I started hating the subject. It didn’t just make me feel bad about my reading skills, which I thought all along was superb, it made me feel that I could never be as smart as those whose reading speed I could not outpace. It was a terrible feeling. It’s one of the many reasons why I dread Mondays up to now.
Some people are challenged by competition. If you insult their mental prowess or social standing or self-imposed authority, they would bare their claws and sink their teeth onto your weakest points like a tiger trying to win back its territory. On the contrary, the same trick that motivates the tiger would make other people shrink back, whimper, and slither back to its hole. I belong to that species.
Not that I subsist on positive reinforcement, but yes, I do prefer that, thank you very much. I know, we don’t always encounter people who will caress our ego and give us inspirational pep talks every time the world is hating on us, but not all people are powered by artificial heat. Unlike other people, I don’t need to be threatened to work extra hard. That’s already in my default setting. Nobody has to push me to make me do anything. Pushing will just make me angry, and it will just make me stop cooperating. I’m really easy to get along with, and I don’t play hard to get. If you want something from me, all you need to do is say “please.”
