Am I a Honeybee? Building My Hive: Fostering Community and Resilience in Education

Am I a Honeybee? Building My Hive: Fostering Community and Resilience in Education

Soraya 

A coworker of mine, an amazing instructional coach, compared me to a honeybee, and it got me thinking about how true that is. Much like the hardworking honeybee that tirelessly gathers nectar, I strive to dedicate myself to my work every day. I consistently contribute my efforts to help my team and students thrive, believing that every little action can make a big difference in our educational environment.

I see myself as a part of a hive—a community where collaboration is key. Just as honeybees work for the good of their hive, I am committed to supporting my educational community. I aim to foster a nurturing environment for our students and families, always working toward our collective goals. I believe that together, we can achieve great things.

In my role, I strive to bring sweetness into the world, much like honeybees do. I approach my work with compassion and support, aiming to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere. I hope that my positive energy uplifts my colleagues, making our workplace feel like a haven of encouragement and kindness.

I also pride myself on being efficient and purpose-driven. Like honeybees, which follow a well-coordinated path to collect nectar, I approach my tasks with intention. I ensure that my efforts benefit not only my own work but also those around me, believing that collaboration enhances our impact.

Resilience is another quality I share with honeybees. They face challenges head-on, and I strive to do the same in my work. When faced with obstacles, I persist and adapt, always seeking solutions that will help everyone succeed. I believe that overcoming challenges together strengthens our community and enriches our experiences.

Ultimately, my coworker’s comparison to a honeybee resonated deeply with me. It highlights my dedication, positive impact, and the strong, supportive network I aim to create. I am proud to be an essential part of this “hive,” where we work together to nurture our students and each other.

Reflection on disorientation

Jun 2024

Last Monday Morning, June 10th

It was the last week of the school year, and I was filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. The prospect of a long summer ahead was thrilling, yet uncertainty about whether or not we'd return to school in the fall left me feeling confused. I received looks from staff, their hugs filled with grief, as if I were dying. Emails of appreciation and donations to my organizations poured in.

I went to see the Assistant Principal, the nicest lady at our school. She was unsure about her future, believing she might be demoted to her previous job. But in a sudden twist, it was announced at the school assembly that she had been promoted to a higher position. The uncertainty about my own job loomed large. Why did everyone seem to know something I didn't? 

I asked her directly what was going on. She explained that they had informed the staff to give them a chance to say goodbye to me properly. I appreciated their thoughtfulness. As I left, I felt overwhelmed by the tasks ahead. Like a marathon, I wrote reports, called parents about gift cards from fundraising, created picture collages in Canva, and prepared clothes for the lost and found donation, among many other things.

**Tuesday**

The next day, while cleaning my office, my sense of belonging began to fade. I took down posters and flyers, categorized my personal items, and moved many things to my car, leaving school-owned items on a large shelf. I took a final picture with the first flower my daughter had given me to congratulate me on getting the job. It was dry and dusty, and I decided to let it go.

On my way to the parking lot, I saw a few staff members talking about my departure as if it were definite, but I wasn't sure. Did they know something I didn't?

**Wednesday Morning**

Wednesday was a pupil-free day. With no students around, everyone was cleaning and discarding items. I felt bad for the books and office supplies being thrown away, but what could I do? I cleaned my bins, created a worksheet for inventory, and asked two coworkers for help, which never came. They gave me a small gift, which I kept. All day, I counted items for the inventory list.

There was an announcement for all staff to gather for coffee and pastries one last time. I asked the principal if I could keep some things in my bin, and she confirmed I was leaving for sure. It felt like a stone dropped on my head and sand filled my throat. I kept myself together and mentioned I hadn't been officially informed by my department. She urged me to call my boss for an answer.

In the office, I called my direct admin.

He denied having any news and advised me to apply for jobs. Frustrated, I went to a scheduled meeting with the principal and told her what he said. She didn't believe him, suggesting he might be lying. We had an emotional, informative, and somewhat condescending hour-long meeting. She revealed things I hadn't known and emphasized advocating for myself. She shared how she had fought for her own position and helped our AP secure her new role, now as a principal.

The conversation brought up feelings of discrimination, inadequacy, and frustration. Despite feeling overqualified, I wasn't seen as someone worth fighting for. The principal repeated multiple times that I was "over over over over qualified," and we discussed the glass ceiling in educational institutions for those without specific credentials. We ended the meeting with mutual appreciation, a hug, and a selfie.

Exhausted and with many tasks still left, I skipped meals and water. I said goodbye to my office, took a photo, and dropped off a gift for a kind lady who had welcomed me three years ago. I also bid farewell to the counselors. One had hurt me deeply last year without ever apologizing, while the other remained kind and connected. Their bond confused me, especially since they didn't invite me to lunch. Overwhelmed with loneliness, I quickly regained my composure.

I took a final photo of the front door and left. Thanks to the digital era, I received a link an hour later filled with thank you notes, cards with good wishes, and best regards. Now, I find myself questioning if I want to return. Exhausted from fighting for my place, I realize it's time to change my path.

Cherishing Food: A Journey of Conscious Cooking Amidst Adversity

 Title: Cherishing Food: A Journey of Conscious Cooking Amidst Adversity

Dr.Soraya Fallah

Food evokes ambivalent feelings within me. On one hand, I firmly believe that we are what we eat, and thus, it's imperative to consume well-prepared, nutritious, and wholesome meals. Yet, on the other hand, the bitter memories of wartime scarcity and the sheer exhaustion that came with it linger in my mind. The impossibility of importing essential items and the shortage of food in the city—these realities still unsettle me to my core.

Let's go back to my kitchen. In my kitchen, every aspect of food preparation carries weight. Cleanliness, quality ingredients, and staying to the end of prepared food are non-negotiable. Over the years, I tried to change my way of cooking; one day, I might stop forever, or maybe not. For years, I have been attempting to reduce making dirty dishes, but the way I cook, enduring disagreements with my husband over the necessity of nightly dishwasher runs.

My husband is annoying. I tried every single way to change him, but he still gets upset when he dishes. 

Last October marked a turning point. A heated argument led to a personal crisis, compelling me to hand wash every item used in cooking. It was a moment of reclaiming control, of reaffirming my commitment to conscious cooking.

Cooking remains a challenge, a task I don't inherently relish. Yet, my approach sets me apart. I don gloves, carefully select non-expired ingredients, and use more than enough for an army. I am trying to remember when my food was insufficient for two or three families. My measurement of people's stomachs is wrong. Despite the complexities, I persevere because food is significant in my culture.

Food isn't merely sustenance; it's the essence of family gatherings, a medium of expression, and a symbol of love and respect. This reverence for food stems from our tumultuous past, where war casts a long shadow of scarcity and uncertainty. We put all we have on the table not just out of tradition but as a testament to our resilience and gratitude for what we have.

Each dish is more than just a meal; it's a reminder of our shared history, our capacity to endure, and our unwavering commitment to cherish every moment.

Grieving for our burned and buried books

 

My burned and buried books Story

By: Dr,Soraya Fallah

In a heartbreaking display of resilience and love for literature, this photograph captures a moment of both sorrow and determination in my father's life. Amongst the cherished remnants of our home library, carefully preserved despite the devastation wrought by the Iranian government's Revolutionary Guard, lies a story of profound loss and unwavering hope. Many of our treasured books met a tragic fate in the flames or were buried, sacrificed to the oppressive forces of censorship and persecution.

My father, questioned for his possession of Kurdish and social justice related Persian literature, stood firm in the face of adversity, offering his children a lesson in courage and perseverance. As we mourned the loss of our beloved books, my father's words echoed with wisdom: "They can be found later, but you cannot be replaced if they kill you." With heavy hearts, we bid farewell to the volumes that had shaped our minds and hearts, but my father's decision to move the remaining books to his mother's bedroom spoke volumes about his determination to safeguard knowledge against tyranny.

Despite the hardships endured, the influence of those early literary treasures remained indelible, leaving an enduring legacy that continues to resonate in our lives. In a moment of innocence and insight, my younger sister confusingly questioned why they (referred to Islamic government) wants you to burn  these books. "They're scared of them," my father replied simply. "They have fear if these books exist, they won't." This exchange captured the essence of our family's struggle – the power of knowledge to challenge authority, to inspire change, and to endure even in the face of oppression. Today, as I look upon the library in my own home, lovingly displayed in the dining room alongside my partner, I am reminded that as long as we endure, so too will the power of books. In our free country, there is no scarcity of knowledge, no fear of censorship or persecution. We are the custodians of our own stories, and through the preservation of literature, we honor the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring legacy of those who dared to defy oppression.

A Golden Bridge

A Golden Bridge Story

By: Dr. Soraya Fallah

In my retreat from life's chaos - the clamor of disasters, the cacophony of sounds, voices, blinding lights, the tumult of war, the incessant barrage of news, the relentless rhythm of parties, and the demands of work - I found solace in the serenity of my quiet room. Amidst the stillness, a captivating blue box caught my eye. Opening it revealed a classy and exquisite surprise – a golden thimble, a name I only discovered recently when my son gifted me this unique item.

Never did I anticipate possessing such a precious piece. Within the sanctuary of my quiet room, devoid of the need to achieve worldly importance, garner awards, or produce something of significance, I find myself engaging in simple acts – altering the hem of a blouse, shortening a pair of pants, tweaking the style of a garment. I spend moments immersed in contemplation, surrounded by the soothing melodies of Kurdish music. Often, I find myself shedding tears, moved by the poignant songs of Ahmed Kaya, Rojda, and the narratives of executions.

The golden thimble rests before me, a symbol of craftsmanship and heritage. Though I refrain from using it, I derive pleasure from merely observing its intricate details. Memories of my mother flood back, as she skillfully wielded a silver thimble in the days when sewing was a common skill. In those times, it was deemed essential for a woman to be adept at sewing, cooking, cleaning, and maintaining decorum. Lost in my thoughts, a needle pricks my fingertip, a reminder of the journey from trial and error to formal education in the art of sewing. As I nurse the minor injury, I reflect on the expectations placed upon women and the evolving roles we play in the tapestry of life.

And in this quiet space, where the golden thimble adds an extra layer of meaning, I realize that even without this tangible symbol, my son is always with me. His presence is a silent companion, enhancing the warmth and significance of every moment spent in the embrace of my quiet room. The golden thimble becomes a bridge, connecting generations, and making the solitude feel less solitary. It is not just an heirloom but a testament to the enduring bond that transcends time and material possessions. With the thimble in hand, my son's spirit becomes even more palpable, turning this space into a haven where the past and present seamlessly intertwine.

Happy to have him in my life, so bold, so enduring, the quiet room becomes a haven not just for memories but for the ongoing narrative of our shared journey. The golden thimble, now a cherished artifact, symbolizes not only the art of sewing but the timeless threads of love and connection that weave through the fabric of our lives.

In the midst of these reflections, my mind wanders to iconic bridges – the majestic San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge and the resilient Saqez Bridge, both standing as testaments to human ingenuity and determination. Their architectural marvels, like the golden thimble, span gaps and connect distant points, embodying the strength of bridges that endure despite challenges. Just as these bridges link shores and communities, the thimble, with its intricate links to the past and present, becomes a bridge across generations in the quiet room. Executions, resistance, hope, and the structural resilience of bridges weave together, creating a narrative that spans time, culture, and the shared human experience.

In the quiet room, as I hold the golden thimble in my hand, I marvel at how a seemingly small gift, as small as a thump, can create such profound and lasting feelings. It is a testament to the power of thoughtfulness, the beauty in simplicity, and the emotional resonance that transcends the physicality of the object itself. The thimble, once a mere tool, has transformed into a vessel carrying not only the weight of craftsmanship and tradition but also the intangible weight of love and connection, proving that the most modest gestures can evoke the richest emotions.