Identity, Stigma, & Societal Pressure
In Defense of Wonder
Age 37, Male
English Description
I was raised in a Western education system, one that didn’t just allow questions but celebrated them. Curiosity was fuel, not a flaw. We were taught to wonder, to challenge, to dig deeper. That belief, that curiosity is essential and sacred, has never left me. It’s rooted itself so deeply in who I am that it shapes how I see the world, and more importantly, how I teach.
But now, as a teacher in Taiwan, I often find myself caught in a quiet tug-of-war between that philosophy and a more traditional way of learning. In many classrooms here, curiosity is something to be tamed. Questions are too often seen as disruptions. Creativity is politely dismissed, or worse, subtly punished. There is a deep reverence for conformity, for not standing out, for preserving discipline and control.
And in the middle of all that, I teach art.
Every day, I witness the light in children’s eyes when they create, when they imagine, when they express something that is entirely their own. But I also see how quickly that light can dim under the weight of expectation. I’ve watched brilliant sparks of creativity shrink after a single critical comment or disapproving glance. I’ve seen wonder replaced with self-doubt. And it breaks my heart.
Because childhood is supposed to be a time of exploration. This is when creative reasoning is at its peak, when ideas come freely, unfiltered by fear of being “wrong.” And yet, so often, those very ideas are boxed in or brushed aside before they even have a chance to breathe.
So I see my role as more than just teaching art. I see myself as a guardian of that creative light. I try to make space for the wild thoughts, the strange questions, the messy colors. I want my students to know it’s okay – more than okay – to think differently. To feel deeply. To imagine boldly.
I know I can’t change an entire system. But maybe, in my classroom, I can plant a seed. Maybe I can protect that spark just long enough for it to grow strong enough to resist being extinguished. Maybe, just maybe, I can remind a child that their voice matters, not when it conforms, but precisely when it doesn’t.
But now, as a teacher in Taiwan, I often find myself caught in a quiet tug-of-war between that philosophy and a more traditional way of learning. In many classrooms here, curiosity is something to be tamed. Questions are too often seen as disruptions. Creativity is politely dismissed, or worse, subtly punished. There is a deep reverence for conformity, for not standing out, for preserving discipline and control.
And in the middle of all that, I teach art.
Every day, I witness the light in children’s eyes when they create, when they imagine, when they express something that is entirely their own. But I also see how quickly that light can dim under the weight of expectation. I’ve watched brilliant sparks of creativity shrink after a single critical comment or disapproving glance. I’ve seen wonder replaced with self-doubt. And it breaks my heart.
Because childhood is supposed to be a time of exploration. This is when creative reasoning is at its peak, when ideas come freely, unfiltered by fear of being “wrong.” And yet, so often, those very ideas are boxed in or brushed aside before they even have a chance to breathe.
So I see my role as more than just teaching art. I see myself as a guardian of that creative light. I try to make space for the wild thoughts, the strange questions, the messy colors. I want my students to know it’s okay – more than okay – to think differently. To feel deeply. To imagine boldly.
I know I can’t change an entire system. But maybe, in my classroom, I can plant a seed. Maybe I can protect that spark just long enough for it to grow strong enough to resist being extinguished. Maybe, just maybe, I can remind a child that their voice matters, not when it conforms, but precisely when it doesn’t.
中文描述
在我成長過程中所接受的是西方教育體系的薰陶，這個體系不僅允許提問，更鼓勵學生主動發問。好奇心是一種動力，而非需修正的缺陷。我們被教育要保持好奇、勇於質疑、深入探索。我始終秉持著「好奇心是重要且近乎神聖的存在」這樣的信念，並已深深植入我的本質之中，塑造我看待世界的方式，且最重要的是也深刻影響了我的教學風格。
但如今在台灣，身為一名教師，我卻經常發現自己夾在這種信念與傳統學習模式之間，陷入一場無聲的拉鋸戰。因為在台灣，許多課堂上，好奇心被當作需要馴服的行為。提問常被視為干擾上課秩序，創造力被禮貌地忽視，或更糟的情況是在暗地受到處罰。在這裡，循規蹈矩被視為美德，唯恐特立獨行，力求維護紀律和秩序。
而在這樣的環境裡，我所教授的偏偏是藝術。
每一天，當孩子們進行創作、發揮想像並表達著完全屬於自己的想法時，我都能看到他們眼中熠熠生輝的光芒。但我也看見在沉重的期許下，這些光芒又是如何迅速消散。我曾目睹那些才華橫溢的創意，在一句批評或一個不贊同的眼神後，便在瞬間黯淡。我看見原本的好奇心卻變成自我懷疑，這讓我心痛不已。
因為童年本應是自由探索的時光。這是創意思考最為蓬勃的階段，是無限想像得以自在湧現、無須畏懼「犯錯」的時期。然而，這些創意往往未來得及綻放，便遭受限制或甚至被擱置在角落。
因此我認為自己的職責不僅僅是教導藝術，更是成為創造之光的守護者。我努力為這些天馬行空的想法、奇奇怪怪的問題以及繽紛而繁亂的色彩，營造一個得以自由揮灑的空間。我希望我的學生能夠明白擁有與眾不同的思考方式不僅沒有問題，反而是一種珍貴的力量。可以深刻地感受，可以大膽地想像。
哪怕蜉蝣撼動不了大樹，但或許我可以在我的課堂上種下一顆種籽。或許我可以多護這些光芒一段時間，讓它有機會茁壯，累積足以對抗熄滅的力量。或許，只是或許，我可以讓孩子明白他們的聲音很重要，重要的不是隨波逐流的時刻，而是在勇敢選擇不服從的時候。
但如今在台灣，身為一名教師，我卻經常發現自己夾在這種信念與傳統學習模式之間，陷入一場無聲的拉鋸戰。因為在台灣，許多課堂上，好奇心被當作需要馴服的行為。提問常被視為干擾上課秩序，創造力被禮貌地忽視，或更糟的情況是在暗地受到處罰。在這裡，循規蹈矩被視為美德，唯恐特立獨行，力求維護紀律和秩序。
而在這樣的環境裡，我所教授的偏偏是藝術。
每一天，當孩子們進行創作、發揮想像並表達著完全屬於自己的想法時，我都能看到他們眼中熠熠生輝的光芒。但我也看見在沉重的期許下，這些光芒又是如何迅速消散。我曾目睹那些才華橫溢的創意，在一句批評或一個不贊同的眼神後，便在瞬間黯淡。我看見原本的好奇心卻變成自我懷疑，這讓我心痛不已。
因為童年本應是自由探索的時光。這是創意思考最為蓬勃的階段，是無限想像得以自在湧現、無須畏懼「犯錯」的時期。然而，這些創意往往未來得及綻放，便遭受限制或甚至被擱置在角落。
因此我認為自己的職責不僅僅是教導藝術，更是成為創造之光的守護者。我努力為這些天馬行空的想法、奇奇怪怪的問題以及繽紛而繁亂的色彩，營造一個得以自由揮灑的空間。我希望我的學生能夠明白擁有與眾不同的思考方式不僅沒有問題，反而是一種珍貴的力量。可以深刻地感受，可以大膽地想像。
哪怕蜉蝣撼動不了大樹，但或許我可以在我的課堂上種下一顆種籽。或許我可以多護這些光芒一段時間，讓它有機會茁壯，累積足以對抗熄滅的力量。或許，只是或許，我可以讓孩子明白他們的聲音很重要，重要的不是隨波逐流的時刻，而是在勇敢選擇不服從的時候。