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Marcol Rodriguez - Cultivating the Cultivators

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Marcol Rodriguez - Cultivating the Cultivators

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I had dreamed of the day I would become a teacher; I was practically born for it. My first teaching  job was right in my living room; I was about 10 years old, my niece Franchesca was probably in first grade. Day after day I spent my afternoons sitting at the plastic kiddie  table in the middle of the noise of 🤬 Rey balcony of our second story apartment. 🤬 Rey,  one of the most named slums named in songs, and not for any good reason. I was my niece’s personal tutor, the one who taught her how to read before her classmates even knew their vowels. Becoming a teacher has been part of my destiny.

I always thought that I would feel the most fulfilled by sitting in front of young minds every day. My assumptions were correct; I have loved every single moment of appreciation, struggle, growth, and discomfort within my career. Yet, there is something I have discovered that I love more; that is teaching adults. Helping cultivate the minds of the cultivators of our next generations brings me a sense of comfort. Knowing that the seed I plant will blossom and multiply exponentially is what drives me to pursue a career as an educational coach.

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Then, he saw me and proceeded to ride away on his bike, I remembered myself running and eventually catching up to him on the bike. I never ran that fast ever in my life but it showed me how much I cared. That day really opened my eyes to the type of friend I wanted to be, I wanted to show my friend that I was there for him no matter what.

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Although this experience has traumatized me till today, I've learned how to take the best from it. No matter how hurt I am from this event, I want to be able to take this experience and use it to better my understanding of friendship. I can’t say I have completely moved on, but the only way I can survive this injury would be acknowledging it and accepting it.

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There wasn’t a moment that opened the doors to writing for me. The doors just felt like it was bolted shut from the outside but there wasn't a way to pry it open. I could see the door beating, as if it was calling my name to come close. As I got closer to the door of writing the pressure of my writer's block was lifted off my shoulders. The door that I thought was once bloated shut, flung open, it's as if the power of writing was never lost. I grabbed a pen and paper, the feel of the plastic of the pen  on my hand and paper at the tips of my fingers felt like this magical experience that you only get when you are able to jot all your thoughts on paper. The flow of my thoughts felt like it was a waterfall of emotions. Coming into writing once again made me realize that writing is my shelter, it’s the world that I keep close to my heart. I’m glad I found my safe place to be myself without being judged.

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I love learning about what things that shaped someone and what traditions they carry. I don't know why I am this way to be honest. It's just something that grew on me. I feel as if you take the time to learn someone else's culture you’ll be able to learn something about yourself as well as having a better understanding of someone else.

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As I walk to the restaurant after school one day, I hear the sound of my mom making fried rice. As I walk closer, the sound of metal intensifies as the metal spoon continues to bang against the large iron wok. As I enter the restaurant, the smell of fried chicken fills my nose just as a blast of hot air hits my face. As I walk inside to put my backpack down, I hear my mom say, “Go wash your face and hands.”

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Both my grandma and my mom are undoubtedly the most selfless, strongest women in my life. I, too, aspire to be a strong selfless woman, just like the women who raised me. I want to be an embodiment of their character         

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Both my grandma and my mom are undoubtedly the most selfless, strongest women in my life. I, too, aspire to be a strong selfless woman, just like the women who raised me. I want to be an embodiment of their character         

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I am defined by the fact that I always try to be outgoing even if at times it may be uncomfortable. There are times when I don’t feel like speaking because I am afraid of wording what I say in a wrong way, or I am afraid of not making sense. However, I tend to push off this feeling aside and regardless ask the question I wanted to ask, say the answer I wanted to say, or do whatever I was afraid to do before. I think this partially has to do with the value that I have of adaptability. If I wasn’t able to adapt fully to the environments that I am in such as the classroom, I would probably stay quiet.

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Hearing those words sparked a little stove fire in my soul, which later turned into a huge bonfire. My love for reading took me like a leaf in the wind and soon I would carry home over 15 books with me, lugging them back and forth from the library. In fourth grade, it was known that I had an advanced reading level, higher than the average in the class. My mother was so proud of my earlier achievement, because she thought it was the start of many. In middle school, it was declared that I could read at a college level if I wanted to, but my reading levels were based off of standardized tests, which made the accuracy doubtful to me. My mother, hearing this again, was overwhelmed with joy and pride, that she made my favorite food that day as a little celebration. But soon my love for reading began to decline, as school got harder and the texts kept getting more and more boring. 

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Hearing those words sparked a little stove fire in my soul, which later turned into a huge bonfire. My love for reading took me like a leaf in the wind and soon I would carry home over 15 books with me, lugging them back and forth from the library. In fourth grade, it was known that I had an advanced reading level, higher than the average in the class. My mother was so proud of my earlier achievement, because she thought it was the start of many. In middle school, it was declared that I could read at a college level if I wanted to, but my reading levels were based off of standardized tests, which made the accuracy doubtful to me. My mother, hearing this again, was overwhelmed with joy and pride, that she made my favorite food that day as a little celebration. But soon my love for reading began to decline, as school got harder and the texts kept getting more and more boring. 

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This experience has taught me to advocate for myself and to not accept what others want for you; only accept what you want for yourself.

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 I walk inside my house with a pair of Jordan’s, but when I leave, I leave with my colorful and precious Guinean slippers. When I leave my house, I feel the weight on my shoulders ironically build up my strength. When I leave my house, the smell of supu thiewo is embedded in my coat. I leave my house as an enlightened and resilient teenager, and I am going out into the world to become an entrepreneur, physician, and innovator. 

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Later came August, the marking point of one month before school starts again but this time something new, high school. The relaxation that overcame my body has been flushed away and been replaced with a ticking bomb. August, the month of starting summer homework, doing every vacation-like thing before it’s game over, and subconsciously worrying about the first day of school.

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Why don't I just stop this? Stop pursuing my dreams and stop trying to be better than what I am. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not get the ball over the net. Under the hot and blazing sun, in 85 degree weather, I stood hunched over on the volleyball court, sweating, exhausted, and frustrated. Twenty-three tries and the ball would just struggle to get over the net. All I wanted to do was surrender to the deafening sound of failure. Feeling like I was so close, yet so far. Far from being able to play for the team and even farther from being a great player.