Jasmine and Origami

Jasmine

At the International School of Phnom Penh, students are sorted into advisory groups called HomeGroups. My HomeGroup meets every morning when I take attendance and read general announcements to them. They also meet on Wednesday afternoons. The curriculum for the Wednesday meetings allows advisers (like me) a lot of leeway. During my first five weeks we discussed such topics as using the school's centralized computer system, writing reflection essays (which are required in Grade 12), and environmental issues (during the same week as Earth Day). This week the students asked permission to work individually (which was granted), and some of them had small group assignments which required them to meet elsewhere on campus. I think I had only five or six of my normally ten students at any one time.

HomeGroup students: Sorina, Yannick, Jasmine, and Hyun Ah

Because the group was smaller than usual, I canned the lesson plan and used the opportunity to talk with the students. Because I don't "teach" these students, because I only see them for ten minutes eight out of ten mornings, and because I have only had five extended lessons with them, I don't really know them (not like I know my sixth and ninth graders). I was glad for the opportunity to chat with them individually.

HomeGroup students: Rebecca, Sophany, and Ali

Enter Jasmine. Despite her western sounding moniker, Jasmine's given name is Eun Ji. Jasmine is Korean, and because of her heritage, she is quite reserved. Until yesterday, Jasmine never did more than respond when I talked to her. Let me back up. When the period began I overheard a short exchange between Jasmine and another person who referred to her as kim chee. I'm no expert on Asian insults, but it sure sounded insensitive to me. When she sat down, I asked her if I had heard correctly. We agreed that the comment was unnecessary (especially directed at someone as gentle and unassuming as Jasmine). Without making the comment more upsetting than it already was (or should have been), I changed the subject.

HomeGroup students: Virak and Yannick

In front of her was a book of origami, the ancient art of paper folding. Much to my surprise and delight, Jasmine began showing me the book. She offered it to me. I flipped through it. I showed her photos of advance origami projects and insinuated that she should make one for me. (Perhaps I should clarify that the book was for advanced projects like castles and multi-layered human faces.) Jasmine immediately responded that she was incapable. After three or four requests she could tell that I was purposefully teasing her. Each time she shook her head and repeated that she was not able to make the project. Finally, I smacked the book closed and said, "I am sick of your negative attitude! You should say 'Yes Mr. Thanner. I would be glad to make that for you Mr. Thanner.'" It could have gone two ways.

Tae Jun, HomeGroup's resident musician

Again I opened the book and selected some impossible project and asked her to make it. She said, "OK give me another chance." She said, "Yes Mr. Thanner. I would be glad to make that Mr. Thanner." It was a moment. Everyone laughed. At that point, she left her seat and sat next to me. She flipped through the book until she found the most simplistic project in the whole book--a six-sided paper ball. She said, "I think you should make this for me." I'm telling you it was a moment. Teachers live for these little tiny moments, which as they turn out are neither little nor tiny. Then almost as if it were scripted I said, "You must be kidding. I can't do that." To which she should have replied, "I am sick of your negative attitude. You should say, 'Yes Jasmine. I would love to make that for you.'" Instead she smiled quietly and said, "I think you can do it. I will get you some paper."

Take one guess how I spent the next hour. You got it. I cut. I folded. I inserted. I even gave up (a time or two). Seriously, I followed the dumb directions to the letter. I started with pieces of colored paper 2" x 1". By the time I finished cutting, folding, and inserting, the pieces were so small that my big ole fingers could not make the magic happen.

Jim on the mike at the weekly school-wide assembly

At 2:35 p.m. every Wednesday there is an outdoor assembly for all students. As I sat waiting for it to begin, Jasmine found me and asked about the project. I went to my room and returned with the saddest excuse for origami in the history of paper. I made a bunch of excuses and laid the tangled mess in her out-stretched hand. She said, "It's not so bad. I will fix it for you."

As soon as the assembly finished, she walked over to me with her hand out-stretched again, except this time there lay my little paper ball. "I can have this?" she asked.