New ways to ask someone out

New ways to ask someone out

By Amy Spencer


It seems so simple: If you like someone, and you want to take him or her out on a date, you just ask. We all know, however, that it’s much harder than it looks—which is why most of us clam up, bow out, fidget, mumble and fumble at the moment of truth. But those days can soon be history. The key? Take your mind off the possibility of rejection by adding a little life to your next invitation.
Here are ways to ask someone out that are so new, different, and unexpected that your askee will just have to accept!

Ask your intended out on paper…or a paper napkin

If you’re out at a bar and notice a cute person standing there, put the cocktail napkins to good use. Remember those grade school “Do you like me?” notes you used to pass around? Do something similar. Grab a pen, write down, “Would you like to go out next week?” with a “Yes” box and a “No” box beneath it. Fold up the napkin note and pass it to him or her with the pen.

Pull your own “To Be Continued…” episode

The less you know the person you’re asking out, the better off you are with this technique. While no one is saying to ask out a total stranger of course (for safety’s sake), this is a good approach if you’re attracted to a friend of a friend when, say, you’re all out at a bar or party. Start a story, then stop partway through saying, “Oh, this is a two-part episode. To hear the other half, you’ll have to tune into a date with me.” Why do I know this works? Because a guy I met in a bar used something similar on me a few months ago. We’d been talking about traveling adventures we’d had, and he said, “I have two funny stories about that.” After finishing his first story, he said, “As for the second story… well, I’ll tell you when we go out for dinner.” We’ve been out for four dinners since!

Hire a stand-in to do the asking

If you’re feeling too chicken to approach the gorgeous stranger across the room, have a friend — or the party host, or the bartender at your favorite hangout — do it for you. Ask your go-between to say to your would-be date, “My friend over there wants to know if you’ll go out with him/her.” Then be sure they pour on the charm for you with glowing lines, like, “She’s a great woman, and you’d be a fool not to go out with her.” Or “I mean, he’s a cool dude—check out his shoes.” Once you have the object of your affections smiling, then you can move in for the answer personally.

Evite someone for a one-on-one

If you already have the email address of the person you want to ask out, let an Internet invite do the talking. Go to Evite.com and arrange a small party… so small that the only invitees are you and your date. In the reply box, you, of course, should write something funny like, “Heck yeah, I’ll be there! Count me in!”

Sneak it onto their to-do list

If someone you know (and like) hasn’t gotten around to asking you out — and if you’re the bold type — insert it into his or her schedule. Yvi Chen, 30, penned this approach not too long ago. She was at a friend’s house (a single, handsome friend’s house) and wrote in his calendar, “Call Yvi to remind her about having dinner next week.” On the next page, a week later, she scheduled in, “Dinner with Yvi.” Yes, it was cheeky, but she felt she had nothing to lose. “I knew he’d either call to comment on what I wrote in his calendar, or he’d just pretend he never saw it,” says Yvi. “I was fine either way. I just didn’t want to be rejected face-to-face.” As if. In the end, Yvi got the “remind,” and they dined!

Start your own rumor

If there’s someone you’ve been flirting with for a few weeks or years, and you can’t figure out a way to break the “friend” boundary, here’s a plan that can work brilliantly. Tell the person you have your eye on, “So the rumor is, you want to ask me out…” If he really does want to ask you out, you’ve just handed him a safety net for rejection. And if he hadn’t thought of asking you out, he might be intrigued enough by the “rumor” to look at you in a new light. If he says, “Who started that rumor?” Say, “I can’t reveal my sources.” Or “I can’t tell you who, but it was someone very smart.” My friend Lisa tried this with a guy she’d been flirty friends with in college who’d never made a move. Though he was flustered for a minute, she finally said, “Look, are you going to ask me out or not?” He said, “Uh… yes.” She then said “yes” to a date that night. And five years later, she said “yes” to his marriage proposal.

Make a wager

The next time you want to ask out a stranger you meet at a bar or party, up your chances of getting a yes by upping the fun ante. Say to him or her, “I’ll play you in a game of pool. If I win, you take me out. And if you win, I’ll let you take me out.” Let the game begin!

Be specific and straight-up

Whether you want to ask out a stranger, a friend or someone you’ve struck up a conversation with at a party, go bold. Replace a wishy-washy line like, “So yeah, we should hang out or something soon, you know?” with a far more straightforward, “Would you like to get sushi with me next Thursday night?” No mixed messages, no fumbling for words, and oozing with confidence… and that’s something every date askee wants to hear.



Amy Spencer writes for Cosmopolitan, Real Simple, and other publications.

Article courtesy of Happen magazine, www.happenmag.com.

p.s

-this one's quite fun. am I supposed to try one of these? :)

KMLA on Yomiuri Shinbum

「リーダー」国挙げ育成



　国内では批判もある「エリート教育」は、本当にタブーなのか。
　底冷えのする韓国ソウルから車で２時間半。江原道にある私立高校「民族史観高校」は東京ドーム２７個分のキャンパスを持ち、校舎まで続く道の傍らには１５基の台座が並ぶ。卒業生からノーベル賞受賞者が出た場合に銅像を建てるためだ。
　韓国を代表するエリート養成校として知られ、ホテルのような１２階建ての寮のほか、国際人として困らないためにゴルフ練習場もある。授業は国語と歴史以外、すべて英語だ。
　「各界のリーダーとして世界を舞台に勝負してほしいから」と、李敦煕校長（６８）。１９９６年の開校以来、内外の一流大学に人材を送り出し、卒業生は官僚や研究者などとして活躍中だ。
　韓国政府は２０００年、エリート教育に国を挙げて取り組む「英才教育振興法」を制定。０３年には同法に基づき、民族史観高校をモデルにした国立高校「韓国科学英才学校」を釜山（プサン）に開校した。生徒は大学教授の指導も受け、物理や数学など専門分野の研究を進める。毎年１本の論文提出が義務付けられるが、成績優秀者は提携する国内の大学に無条件で進学できる。
◎

　だが、なぜエリート養成なのか。政府機関・科学技術部科学技術人育成課の金在植課長（５２）は「資源が少ないわが国では、英才１人が約３０００億円の価値がある。そのためには、人を育てる政策が必要だった」と、説明する。
　韓国だけではない。韓国教育開発院英才教育センターの徐恵愛所長（４６）が注目するのは、ブッシュ米大統領による今年１月の一般教書演説だ。中国やインドの台頭に、理数系教師の７万人採用など、科学教育のすそ野の強化策を打ち出した。その中国は１９９５年、「科教興国」のスローガンを掲げ、先進国に国費留学生を大量に送り込み、長期的視野で育成に取り組む。小学校からエリート教育を行う「重点学校」もある。
　シンガポールは小学校段階の２回のテストで、その後の進学先が決まってしまう。批判はあるが、「徹底したエリート教育が人口約４００万の小国が繁栄できた理由」と、白百合女子大の田嶋ティナ宏子助教授（４４）は説明する。
◎

　翻って日本では、第２次世界大戦後、エリート教育はながらくタブー視されてきたが、ここにきて変化の兆しも見えてきた。
　慶応大は予備校と協力して、少数精鋭の現役高校生を対象とした先端科学の連続講座を開く。国際会議で発表する力をつけるため、科学英語も学ぶ予定だ。今月８日には、トヨタ自動車などが運営する海陽中等教育学校が、愛知県蒲郡市に開校する。モデルは有能な人材を輩出する英国・イートン校で、知識詰め込み型の受験エリートを超えたリーダー育成を目指す。
　官僚の不祥事や政策立案能力の低下が言われる中、東京大は時代が求める官僚を養成する大学院を設置した。早稲田大は、リーダー養成のため、ジャーナリストの田原総一朗氏を塾頭にした「大隈塾」をスタートさせた。改革派の知事などが進めるのは、高校生を対象とした「日本の次世代リーダー養成塾」だ。
　その根底には次のような問題意識がある。「極端な平等主義教育の中で、日本には国際的に活躍できるリーダーが育っていない」（塾長代理の榊原英資・早稲田大教授）。日本もようやく重い腰を上げつつある。（白石洋一）

(2006年4月1日 読売新聞)








全寮制　精神修養にも力





　韓国の全寮制エリート養成校をのぞいた。
　大韓の英才たちよ　一つになって進もう　我々は祖国愛を一時も忘れない
　新入生が校歌の練習をしていた。「呼吸が大事だぞ。背筋をきちんと伸ばして」。男性教諭が韓国の打楽器「チャング」をたたきながら声を張り上げた。
　私立民族史観高校では全員が伝統楽器を学び、テコンドーや韓国流剣道も習得する。３年間で８０時間のボランティア活動も必修だ。
　「リーダーや研究者である前に、人間として精神力や心を磨くことが重要。エリートは伝統や文化を重んじることも大切だ」と語る李敦煕校長（６８）は、自主性を育てる取り組みにも力を入れる。遅刻や外出違反をした生徒は、生徒自身による「法廷」で裁かれる。罰則は書写。昨年から、テスト試験監督は置かないことにした。
　入試の出願は、英語の能力試験ＴＯＥＦＬの得点や中学での上位５％以内の成績が条件。図書館には海外の書籍約６３００冊を持ち、米国の大学教授の講義を収めたＤＶＤも用意する。
◇



　国が全面支援する国立韓国科学英才学校には、蔵書が１万冊を超える科学専門図書館やプラネタリウム設備がある。校内に個々人の学習机があり、原則、午前８時～午後９時３０分は帰寮できない。一方で、息抜きのため、ビリヤード場やカラオケルームも備える。
　やはりテコンドーを通して礼儀や忠誠心を学ぶ。ボランティア活動は３年間で１２０時間だ。教諭の７割が博士課程修了者。ロシアで英才教育に携わった物理学者も教師に招いている。
　入試には４泊５日のキャンプがある。生活態度も観察されながらリポートを書く。今年の入試倍率は１７・３５倍に達した。初めての卒業生を送り出した鄭天守校長（６０）は「ノーベル賞がとれる人間が出てほしい」と期待する。
◇



　両校の生徒には、国家や社会に役立つ人間でありたいという気持ちが強い。
　「韓国は日本との間で外交問題を抱え、朝鮮半島の統一問題も未解決。そういう問題に携わりたい」と外交官志望の崔恩永さん（１７）（民族史観高校３年）。中学２年から韓国科学英才学校に飛び入学したばかりの宋瑞祐君（１５）から「国立学校だから国家に役立つ人間になるのは当然。論文ねつ造問題で、失墜した世界的な科学の地位を挽回（ばんかい）したい」といった発言が出る。
　韓国の英才教育振興法第１条には「才能が優れた人物を早期に発掘し、生まれ持つ潜在力を啓発できるよう、能力と素質に合う教育を実施し、個人の自己実現と国や社会の発展に寄与することを目的とする」とある。その狙いは生徒に染みついている。（白石洋一、写真も）
　韓国の全寮制エリート校　民族史観高校は１９９６年開校で１学年約１５０人。年約１５０万円の授業料は韓国の高校で最高額。乳製品メーカーが英イートン校をモデルに設立、世界に出ても韓国民としての誇りを持ち続けてほしいと命名した。２００３年開校の韓国科学英才学校は１学年約１４０人。授業料は年約１５万円だが、全生徒が奨学金を受け、寮費も国負担で、実質的には無料。両校とも男女共学。



　韓国科学英才学校３年、ある生徒の１日
　６：３０　　起床　　　
　７：３０　　登校、朝食
　（朝食後）　予習復習　
　９：００　　授業　　　
　１３：００　昼食　　　
　１４：００　授業　　　
　１８：００　夕食　　　
　１９：００　読書　　　
　２１：３０　夜食　　　
　２２：００　宿題　　　
　２３：３０　帰寮　　　
　２４：００　英語本読書
　２５：００　論文作成　
　２６：３０　就寝　　　
　民族史観高校の１日（学校案内から）
　６：００　　起床　　
　６：３０　　心身鍛練
　７：００　　朝食　　
　８：００　　登校　　
　８：３０　　授業　　
　１２：２０　昼食　　
　１３：４０　授業　　
　１５：４０　個別学習
　１７：３０　夕食　　
　１９：００　自習　　
　２１：００　夜食　　
　２２：００　自習　　
　２３：５０　就寝　　
(2006年4月5日 読売新聞)








韓流モーレツ、危うさも



　韓流の英才教育は日本の参考になるのか。
　「盧武鉉大統領自身も『国家の競争力を高めるために英才教育が必要だ』と考えている」。韓国の英才教育全般の研究を進める「韓国教育開発院英才教育センター」の徐恵愛所長（４６）は、韓国の英才教育は国を挙げた一大プロジェクトだと強調する。
　韓国政府は、２００３年開校の韓国科学英才学校のほか、１０年までに「情報」と「芸術」の英才学校を作る方針だ。これらの高校への進学をめざす生徒を、全国の各学校が開設している英才学級などが支援する。
　センターは０１年、こうした施策を担保するため、各自治体が推薦した優秀な教諭の研修制度も確立した。その数は５年間で約４０００人。教諭は６０時間の基礎研修を終えると、より高度な１２０時間の研修に臨み、自ら開発した英才指導法についての論文も書く。
◎



　英才教育は、何より保護者の期待が高い。日本の文部科学省にあたる教育人的資源部科学実業教育政策課の金鐘冠課長（５６）は「韓国では教育が身分上昇の唯一の手段。親は自分の子供が英才だと認めてもらうことが一番の誇り」と直截（ちょくせつ）に語る。
　ただ、政府の狙いと国民の思いには微妙なずれもある。たとえば、日本と同じ「理数離れ」の問題だ。
　日本の大学入試センター試験にあたる「大学修学能力試験」では、１９９５年に自然科学系の志願者は全体の４１・８％。それが２００４年には３１・５％に。徐所長は「９７年の通貨危機で真っ先にリストラされたのが企業の研究者だったせいもある。最近は優秀な学生が医者や弁護士に進む傾向もある」と話す。
◎



　一方、「政府は英才教育の対象者を拡大する方針だが、英才教育は本来、数ではなく質を上げるべき。なのに数字だけが独り歩きしている」との意見もある。
　日本の鳴門教育大で客員研究員を務めた釜山（プサン）大学校師範大学の金富允教授（５１）の指摘だ。金教授は、その上で「日本が韓国のように英才教育を急速に進めることは勧めない。最近は学歴は高いが人格の面で問題がある若者も多い。むしろ、人間教育を大事にする視点が大切では」と警鐘を鳴らした。
　周囲の過度な期待がかえって、本人を追い込むという声もある。一例が、ソウル大の黄禹錫（ファンウソク）前教授（懲戒免職）による論文ねつ造事件だ。しかし、日本でも、東大や阪大などで論文偽造に関する疑惑が浮上、米国でも同様の問題が起きている。英才教育が不祥事の根源との見方は、皮相に過ぎるのではないか。
　急速な工業化成功の勢いに乗り、やけどしそうな愛国心にも結びついた韓国の英才教育には、危うさも感じる。その一方で、教育改革を果敢に進める躍動感は日本では感じづらいものだ。要はバランスということだろう。（白石洋一）



　■英才教育に賛成「５２．４％」
　韓国の数学教育専門塾が小学校５年生―中学２年生１６１２人を対象に行った英才教育に関するアンケート結果（昨年１月発表）によると、賛成は５２．４％、反対は２９．８％。賛成の理由では「自分のレベルに合うから良い」がトップで、５８．１％。反対の理由は、「競争が激しくなるのでつらい」が３５．９％で最も高く、「差別、不公平」が２１．２％、「格差が広がる」が１１．４％で続いた。
(2006年4月8日 読売新聞)





<http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/kyoiku/renai/20060401us41.htm>

p.s

-Thought it'd be a good reference to see how the Japanese would take KMLA.

KMLA on TIME

Asia's Overscheduled Kids



Monday, Mar. 20, 2006 By LIAM FITZPATRICK

Students at Korea's Minjok Leadership Academy in their dormitory
JEAN CHUNG / ONASIA FOR TIME

The "E.M.B.A." program that kicks off on a Sunday morning in the heart of Shanghai's financial district is much like any other curriculum designed to train the future business leaders of China. "We give students the tools they need to build up their confidence," says Vivian Liu, general manager of the popular two-year-old program, which has seen 1,500 participants pass through its doors. But the difference between Liu's course and others is this: when the demands of subjects like economics or communications get too taxing, her students might just respond by having a good cry and asking for their mommies. How so? They're children. The e in this E.M.B.A. program stands not for executive but early, and the oldest student in the class is age 6. Civil servant He Jiachen sends his 3-year-old, He Xingzhen, to the E.M.B.A. course while he and his wife pursue their own adult M.B.A.s. "My son is developing well," he says. "In class, he isn't afraid of giving speeches, and he likes to be a team leader in group activities."
High expectations for children are nothing new in China, where the need to master the thousands of characters necessary for basic literacy—coupled with the educational legacy of Confucius—has turned many an inquisitive, bright-eyed student into a sullen rote learner. But the pressure on even the youngest children is intensifying as their parents embrace the notion that education is a primary driver of the kind of upward mobility that was previously unthinkable in China. Eager to provide their kids with a head start, Chinese parents are signing them up for everything from weekend prep courses for under-sixes to boarding schools for toddlers. And we mean toddlers: for $700 a month parents can send children as young as 3 years old to the Hualan International Village Kindergarten in the port city of Tianjin, where they live full-time in landscaped villas outfitted with 42-inch plasma TVs and pianos.
But given that roughly 60% of Chinese families in major cities now spend one-third of their income on children's education, parents are expecting results, not just luxurious surroundings. Li Hongbin's 5-year-old daughter, Xu Yunqiao, attends a private nursery school in Beijing, where she studies from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., five days a week. It isn't enough. Concerned that their children weren't being prepared for the admissions tests at the city's better elementary schools, Li and other parents recently campaigned for play times to be trimmed to make way for more study—and got their wish. Li also started sending her daughter to after-school and weekend classes in reading, math and music. A generation ago, few Chinese 6-year-olds knew how to read or do basic arithmetic. Today, top primary schools expect matriculating students to know at least 1,000 characters and their multiplication tables. Her daughter "has 100 math problems to do a week," marvels Li. "She can do rapid calculations in her head." But she worries that these skills may come at an emotional cost. "It's really terrifying," Li says, of Yunqiao's packed schedule. "We don't know if this makes sense, but we have no choice."
In China, the fact that most parents have only one child helps to explain the extraordinarily acute pressure they feel to produce a superkid—and the resulting proliferation of books with titles like Prodigy Babies and 60 Ways to Ensure Success for Your Gifted Child. But parents across Asia are wrestling with the same conundrum. They're desperate for their children to do well in life and know that relentlessly hard work and a top-notch education can raise the odds of success. Yet many of them also quietly fear the impact of the ferocious pressure imposed on their children in service of these aspirations—how could they not, when tales of emotionally broken prepubescents and student suicides are a media cliché? But however ambivalent they may feel, most parents conclude that the goals are worth the risks. Indeed, the sight of a child being driven to study harder—by a frowning teacher, bullying father or beseeching mother—is a tableau as archetypal to the region as planting rice. Parenting techniques that prioritize the nurturing of a child's self-esteem are not widely espoused. There are no Oprahs or Dr. Phils to genially wag a finger at the dads who don't hug their kids or the mothers who berate them for bringing home anything less than straight A's. Instead, many Asian parents have been free to neuroticize their offspring in ways that would make an entire faculty of child psychologists blanch. Why has this state of affairs persisted?
One answer is the region's historical instability. The Asian drive for advancement has always been sharpened by traumatic and seemingly haphazard events. There's a revolution, flood, famine, dictatorship, evacuation, massacre or coup within the memory of almost every Asian. Even if an entire country cleans the mud of the collective farm from between its toes and marches towards a glittering future of service-sector jobs and flat-screen TVs in every home, it only takes a currency crisis or a strange pox like SARS to shake collective confidence to the core. And when the world is looked at this way, the notion of a child's school years as a halcyon time of finger painting and end-of-term musicals can seem nothing short of scandalous.
Such attitudes towards children are reinforced by Asia's perennial concerns over familial honor and personal face. "Many parents want to show off their children," says Dr. Aruna Broota, a clinical psychologist at the University of Delhi who studies the effects of academic pressure on local kids. "They want to say, 'My son is the best performer in his class' or 'he will go to Harvard.' The child understands that what's important is not his education but that he is a status symbol for his parents."

But even if there were no socio-cultural reasons for the emphasis placed on material advancement, merely observing the action of an entire continent on the rise would be enough to make a child-nagging brute out of almost anyone. Whole villages and towns are making the transition from poverty to wealth in less than a generation—not just in China, but in India, Thailand, Vietnam and elsewhere. The neighbors who used to rear chickens and grow vegetables are now working in call centers or queuing at the local bank for the latest IPO. In these epoch-shifting times of fantastical wealth, the thinking goes, only a fool gets left behind—and only the most insouciant parent neglects to send the kids to cram school. "Professionals want their children to follow in their footsteps and become doctors and engineers," says Esther Tan, an adjunct associate professor in the psychology department of Singapore's Nanyang Technological University. "Those who are less educated want their children to do better and have better lives."
Chew Peck Khoon, a 48-year-old Singaporean IT worker, is typical in her conviction that success at school is a key stepping stone: "I want my children to do well and get a good education that will bring them a better future." And, of course, she's anxious for her children not to fall behind her friends' and relatives' kids. "We always compare," she says. In a city-state that streams children as young as 9 (an age when the top 1% enter the so-called Gifted Programme), cramming is viewed as essential if kids are to have any chance of keeping up with their peers: an estimated 90% of Singaporean families arrange extra tuition for their children. In Chew's case, the extra lessons helped to win the admission of her daughter Ying Ting to Nanyang Girls' High School—one of Singapore's finest. The 14-year-old now begins her day with a 6 a.m. wake-up call and finishes it at 10 p.m. or later, after several hours of homework and extracurricular activities. What most adults would regard as a long daily slog is entirely unexceptional for Singaporean youth. "I've seen people studying till 1 a.m.," Ying Ting shrugs.
Many parents cannot believe the timetables with which their children must cope. "It's very cruel for today's kids," says Shanghai parent Yang Langtao. But Yang's son, 15-year-old Bohong, nonetheless works a strictly regimented day that begins at 6.15 a.m. and ends at 10 p.m. On the weekend he studies classical Chinese literature, crams chemistry for an inter-school competition and practices English. He has virtually no leisure time, though he doesn't seem to mind because of his own ambition to succeed. "When I was a student," his father reflects, "I went to school for only half a day. And in the afternoon, I could play with my pals as much as we wanted."
By contrast, if today's parents do not fill their children's every waking hour with study, or at least organized activity, they risk social disapproval. In Hong Kong, 10-year-old Cheng Hoi-ming has 34 hours in school each week, as well as at least eight hours of tennis lessons and nearly three hours of extra tutorials in science and math. Her 13-year-old sister, Hoi-ying, was participating in 10 extracurricular activities each week by the time she reached second grade (a schedule that has been eased only slightly now that she has entered middle school). Even so, "I was regarded as an irresponsible parent, because they were not doing enough," says their mother, social worker Alice Chang. Parents who withdraw their children from the fray altogether face even greater opprobrium. John Au, a graphic designer, says his relatives were aghast at his decision to remove his son Justin from Wah Yan, one of Hong Kong's most prestigious schools. "A lot of people regard getting into Wah Yan as like winning the lottery, but my son was working until 11 p.m. every night at 7 years of age," says Au. "He got tired and I got tired." Justin now attends an international school and, according to his father, "seems much happier."
There are many Asian parents who, like Au, have become disillusioned with conventional education systems. But not all of them have his confidence when it comes to knowing what to do next. Instead, they are more likely to experience the confusion felt by Chikako Kobayashi, a mother of two grade-schoolers in the Tokyo commuter suburb of Hachioji. She sums up the feelings of many when she admits, "I don't really know what is best for my kids."
Many Japanese educators have likewise started to question their own assumptions. Chastened by incidences of teen suicide and school-related stress (and mindful of the need to create a more adaptable workforce at a time of economic restructuring), the Japanese Ministry of Education has, in recent years, implemented measures in public schools to take emphasis away from rote learning. In a country once notorious for the burdens placed on its young, schools are now required to adhere to a policy of yutori kyoiku (relaxed education). This involves a broadening of the curriculum to include more general-studies components, but a reduction in the overall amount of course material and school hours—a measure colloquially known as "the 30% decrease." The practice of half-day schooling on Saturdays has also been scrapped. "The ministry re-evaluates its policies every 10 years or so, and the most recent changes stressed the need to give children the ability to learn independently, rather than just stuffing them with information," says spokesperson Shunichi Taniai. "The emphasis is on creating a well-rounded individual with a healthy mind and body."
In South Korea, too, there are signs that even the most traditional institutions are beginning to question their old ways. Take the Korean Minjok Leadership Academy. To almost every parent, it is the shining apex, the Mount Olympus, of the country's schooling. A three-hour drive east of Seoul, Minjok is a private school that derives its eminence from results. "Most students go on to Yonsei University, Seoul National University, the Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology or Pohang Institute of Technology," says headmaster and former Minister of Education Lee Don Hee, reciting the names of some of the country's most desirable tertiary-education establishments. "If not these schools, then they go to medical school." And if they want to study abroad? "They matriculate to Ivy League schools or their equivalents." Results like this come through the disciplined implementation of classical methods. These require students, inter alia, to speak only English from 7 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., practice either Taekwondo or archery, and learn traditional musical instruments. The children bow silently in the presence of visitors and wear old-fashioned hanbok garments. Academic disappointment is hardly contemplated. "No student has ever failed to proceed to the next grade," says Lee. "We select students who have the potential to become leaders in many areas of society, and we train them."
Yet under Lee, even this seemingly immutable Confucian stronghold is changing: he has broadened the criteria for admission ("because I wanted to find talented youths, not geniuses who had been created by their parents"), instituted unsupervised exams and introduced a student council. Lee even utters the kind of liberal maxims that would have had a previous generation of headmasters squirming with unease. "The school tries its best to help students enjoy learning," he says, "and not to have them study under pressure."

Such concessions to modernity are more likely to worry Asian parents, however, than reassure them. In Japan, the great majority of parents are deeply suspicious of yutori kyoiku and their concerns were exacerbated by the results from a student-assessment test carried out among OECD countries in 2003. In reading comprehension, Japanese 15-year-olds were given a lowly 14th place in the country rankings. Another report, the Trends in International Mathematics and Science Study, stunned Japanese with the finding that their children lagged behind those in Singapore, Hong Kong and South Korea. "Many parents are worried that their kids will lose out if we get carried away with yutori kyoiku," says Akiko Nishimoto, a systems engineer and mother of two in the suburbs of Tokyo. Yutori is supposed to mean "relaxed," "but ironically it is creating a desperate, inarticulate anxiety among parents," she says. Adds Miyuki Igarashi, a 43-year-old with a son in fourth grade: "Yutori kyoiku hinders ambition in children. Children give up very easily these days."
An unintended result of the new policy has been an exodus from state schools to private schools. The number of first-graders entering public schools declined by a total of 3% over the past four years, while the number of children enrolled in private schools rose by 10%. The surge in demand for private education has been a boon for swanky establishments like Satoe Gakuen in Saitama prefecture outside Tokyo, where an annual tuition fee of $12,000 buys an extraordinary range of facilities. Never mind science labs, the school has its own planetarium as well as science teachers qualified to doctorate level—and all this is for an elementary school. "Parents are spending more on their children and there's a move to private education at a younger age," says vice principal Michio Kaneko. If parents can't afford private schools, they can at least dispatch their kids to after-school classes. "Most of the parents who send kids here are dissatisfied with the standards of [public] education," says Sachiko Kishi, a Kumon teacher in Tokyo. So despite the best efforts of the government to reduce study loads, many parents are working their kids harder than ever.
If Asian education is to be reformed, then, the battles must be fought in homes and hearts. The children of Seoul's Haja Center are familiar with this already: many of them had to fight their parents merely to be allowed on the premises. Take a quick walk around this experimental high school and it's easy enough to see why. Run by Yonsei University and the Seoul Alternative Learning Community Network, the Haja Center (the word haja translates as "Let's do it!") charges $40 to $150 a month for the kind of courses—filmmaking, fine art, web design, music recording—that would darken the countenance of many a Korean mum or dad. Unlike the Minjok Leadership Academy, there are no students dressed in the garments of a previous century, speechlessly prostrating themselves before visitors. Instead, groups of denim-clad, iPod-toting youths come and go from a rowdy cafeteria and look you in the eye if they notice you at all. Teachers are not even called teachers but pandori, meaning "facilitator" or "venue operator." For children traumatized by the rigors of the conventional education system, this is a blissful refuge. "Three or four years ago, children would come to us clearly exhausted from fighting their parents," says Chung Yeon Soon, who until recently was the Network's deputy director before assuming a research position at Korea National Open University. "But these days, some parents seem more able to empathize with their kids. There are happy cases now, in which parents and children actually come to visit the center together."
There is cautious optimism in other parts of Asia too. Vasavadatta Sarkar, a New Delhi schoolteacher, observes: "There's no question that children are under mounting pressure, but there's a new generation of parents who understand that there are new career options open to their children." Partha Iyengar, an analyst at the Indian offices of IT consultancy Gartner, agrees. "The present form of education has helped the Indian IT industry create a world-class resource pool that is easily trained in well-defined processes and disciplined enough to follow those processes to a T," he says. "But it is also very ill-equipped to nurture [independent thinking]. If there is a concerted effort to produce more creative students, we will be well placed. Otherwise, India runs the risk of fading back into oblivion."
Iyengar's emphasis on the need for marketable skills is axiomatic to every Asian parent. It may not be couched in the same economic jargon, but it's a favorite theme of mealtime homilies and bedtime lectures. The only problem is that many parents are approaching the topic from an outdated perspective. In the new economies, the real spoils will go to the creatives—the quick-witted entrepreneurs and innovators, not the compliant milksops with ambitions restricted to the traditional professions. Education reform will come about only when this is more widely recognized by parents across Asia. Hirohito Komiyama, author of several books on the Japanese education system, explains: "Students who undergo mindless cramming tend to have a low EQ [a measure of emotional intelligence], and those who don't learn to socialize or communicate with others cannot succeed in the current corporate world, which increasingly seeks well-rounded individuals." South Korean educator Chung adds: "Education used to be the only way a person could move up in society, and the parents of our children are of a generation that grew up in just such a culture. But they are trying to impart 20th century values to 21st century children."
And if none of this resonates with parents, what about a straightforward appeal to human kindness and empathy? Says Esther Tan of Nanyang Technological University: "Although having children who do well will make them proud, most of the parents I encounter genuinely want the best for their children rather than [looking] to boost their own egos." Change will depend on the ability of parents to admit this more readily, to let go of their fixations with status and social superiority, and to recognize their children not as appendages but as individuals.
Even in China, where the desire to equip children to compete is so all-consuming, there are those who realize that the pressure has gone too far, that there is a desperate need for everyone—parents and kids alike—to kick back and take a deep breath. Feng Shulan, principal of Yayuncun Number 2 Kindergarten in Beijing, says she has repeatedly resisted demands from parents to push her students harder than she believes is good for them. "Sometimes, we have to lecture the parents about what's appropriate for their kids," says Feng. "I tell parents it's also important for them to simply spend time with their kids. I tell them it's important for the kids to be happy." If we forget that, we've surely forgotten the most important lesson of all.




With reporting by Aravind Adiga/New Delhi, Hannah Beech and Bu Hua/Shanghai, Susan Jakes and Nicole Qu/Beijing, Austin Ramzy/Hong Kong, Toko Sekiguchi and Yuki Oda/Tokyo and Jake Lloyd-Smith/Singapore





<http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1174763-2,00.html>

p.s

-I happened to find this article on the web and it sounds pretty interesting.

(as I was one of the OVERSCHEDULED KIDS at KMLA)

7 yrs ago @ princeton...

Korean high school students preview Princeton experience

By Heather Aspras

Princetonian Contributor

Students from a high school in South Korea visited Princeton

yesterday as part of a tour of the United States’ top universities.

Surrounded by classmates dressed in traditional Korean clothing, high school freshman Kwan Jin Rho sang a rendition of Eminem's "The Real Slim Shady" while walking through the University's campus. Rho visited Princeton with 83 schoolmates from the Korean Minjok Leadership Academy near Kangwon, South Korea — one of the nation's top boarding schools. The academy's freshman class — a total of 84 students — is on a two-week tour of top universities in the United States. The trip, which students paid for themselves, is intended to prepare them to study abroad after high school at the best universities in the United States. While on campus, the students took an Orange Key tour and saw Nassau Hall and Prospect Gardens. The thing they seemed to have the most fun doing was photographing the squirrels, however. One student, Seung Hee Hong, said she liked the University, and might be interested in applying here once the time comes. But more than learning about Princeton, the students found their trip to be an interesting cultural experience. They discovered that many aspects of American culture are part of their daily lives in Korea. Hong said the boys like Britney Spears, and the girls like *NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys, much like teenagers in the United States. Koreans mainly like American pop music, she said, though they also like rap and hip-hop.

Hong said dating is much the same in Korea as in the United States. Teenagers go out to the movies frequently, and see Hollywood films more than Korean ones. The films are rated using colors, which correspond to age groups, just as American films are rated R or PG. The students have Internet access in their dorms at KMLA, and they check their e-mail frequently. Usually, they check it several times a day in order to avoid work, Hong said with a smile. The students have all taken English since middle school, and some have been taking it for even longer. Their school has what they call an English Only Policy, which requires them to speak the language all the time. "At least we're supposed to speak it all the time," Hong said, adding that there is a court at the school that holds them responsible when they do not. During the visit, members of the University's Korean American Students Association acted as guides throughout the day, showing the students around campus and answering their questions. Students and faculty from KMLA arranged the trip primarily through e-mail with KASA. Moonsun Kang '01 served as the main KASA liaison, along with Gene Kim '01 and David Choi '01, the vice-president and president of the group. University Korean language professors Gwee-Sook Kim and Eun Joo Kim, as well as Serena Castellano from the admission office also helped plan the trip. After Princeton, the group will visit Harvard, Yale, Brown, MIT, and Stanford.

<http://www.dailyprincetonian.com/archives/2000/10/10/news/1447.shtml>

p.s

-this article helps me reminisce back on my days during the field trip 7 years ago.