I haven’t lived in Canada for some time, but not a day goes by when being Canadian isn’t a core part of my identity—a source of pride and a responsibility to represent well. Strangely, I feel this more now, looking in from the outside, than I ever did while living there.
I spend my days among people of many origins. The identity we share isn’t tied to a single flag; together, we represent many. Yet our community is strong, shaped by something deeper—respect, understanding, shared purpose. Our cultural and national backgrounds weave into this fabric, creating something distinct and meaningful. And in this, I feel more Canadian every day.
Each of us stands out for where we come from. And like them, I embody what my flag represents. In that way, we are all ambassadors, and our differences make our community stronger.
So let’s fly our flag, Canada. Let’s feel pride as others do. We—and they—have every right. Let’s celebrate what makes us distinct, important, and amazing. And let’s share the best of ourselves with those around us who are doing the same.
Most importantly, let’s be steadfast, confident, yet open and respectful. Community isn’t neat and tidy—it’s a beautiful mess that demands sacrifice and understanding. Wherever we are from, we should approach it the same way. It’s worth it.
Education is, at its core, a conversation between the past and the future, mediated by the present. It is neither static nor singular, but dynamic, evolving, and deeply personal. It is a bridge between generations, between cultures, and between perspectives. And for me, education is more than the acquisition of knowledge; it is the cultivation of curiosity, the honing of critical thought, and the nurturing of a sense of responsibility—not just to oneself but to a greater collective.
I believe education should not be confined to the walls of a classroom. The world itself is a text, a sprawling curriculum of experiences, histories, and interactions. Learning should be immersive, challenging, and relevant. It should engage both the intellect and the soul. In this way, education is not just about preparing students for tests or even careers; it is about preparing them for life.
Learning as an Act of Discovery
At its best, education is not the passive reception of information but an active process of discovery. A child does not learn language by memorizing words in isolation; they learn by experimenting, by making mistakes, by immersing themselves in the flow of conversation. Similarly, a student does not truly learn math, history, or science simply by absorbing facts—they learn by questioning, by making connections, by applying knowledge in meaningful contexts.
I see education as an ongoing inquiry. What matters is not just what students know, but how they come to know it. The process of discovery is what sharpens the mind and deepens understanding. A curriculum that does not allow for exploration, that does not encourage curiosity, fails in its most fundamental purpose.
At OWIS Osaka, we are crafting a curricular framework that blends the rigor of standards-based learning with the inquiry-driven approach of the IB philosophy. Why? Because knowledge without context is hollow, and skills without purpose are directionless. Students must see the relevance of their learning, not just in terms of future employment, but in their daily lives, in their ability to make sense of the world around them.
The Role of the Teacher: Guide, Mentor, Facilitator
The image of the teacher as the “sage on the stage” has long been romanticized. But in reality, the most effective educators are those who see themselves as facilitators of learning rather than gatekeepers of knowledge. My role as an educator—whether in the classroom, in leadership, or in shaping policy—is to create an environment where learning can flourish.
This means designing experiences that allow students to struggle productively, to challenge their assumptions, to develop resilience. It means fostering an atmosphere of trust, where mistakes are not failures but necessary steps in the learning process. It means teaching students how to think, not just what to think.
Education should empower students to navigate complexity, to engage with diverse viewpoints, and to make decisions with confidence and integrity. This is why I place a strong emphasis on student agency. The more control students have over their learning, the more invested they become. Choice breeds ownership, and ownership fosters deeper engagement.
Beyond Rote Learning: The Importance of Creativity and Problem-Solving
One of the greatest challenges in education today is the tension between tradition and innovation. The systems that govern education were largely designed for a world that no longer exists. Standardized tests, rigid curricula, and a fixation on measurable outcomes often come at the expense of creativity and problem-solving—the very skills most needed in an era of rapid change.
I see this struggle play out in Osaka, where progressive educational approaches are sometimes met with skepticism. The region is experiencing growth in technology, sustainability, and internationalization, yet traditional mindsets often resist the shifts necessary to fully embrace change. My role is to bridge this gap, to honor the strengths of tradition while advocating for the kind of learning that will equip students for an unpredictable future.
Creativity is not a luxury in education—it is a necessity. Students should be encouraged to think divergently, to approach problems from multiple angles, to take intellectual risks. This is why interdisciplinary learning is so vital. The ability to draw connections between subjects—to see how science informs ethics, how history shapes literature, how math underpins design—is what transforms knowledge into wisdom.
Education as a Moral Responsibility
If education is to be truly transformative, it must also instill a sense of moral and social responsibility. Knowledge without ethics is dangerous. Intelligence without empathy is hollow. We do not educate students merely for their own success but for their ability to contribute meaningfully to the world.
This is why I believe in fostering global citizenship. In an increasingly interconnected world, students must be equipped with the skills and mindset to collaborate across cultures, to engage with diverse perspectives, and to approach global challenges with both pragmatism and compassion.
Education should cultivate not only intellect but character. It should encourage students to ask difficult questions: What does it mean to live a good life? What do we owe to one another? How can we build societies that are just and sustainable? These are not abstract philosophical musings; they are the foundation of responsible leadership and engaged citizenship.
A School as a Living Ecosystem
A school is more than an institution; it is a living, breathing ecosystem. It is shaped by the relationships within it—between students, teachers, families, and the broader community. Learning does not happen in isolation, and for a school to thrive, it must foster a culture of collaboration, respect, and shared purpose.
At OWIS Osaka, we are building something more than a school. We are creating a space where learning is vibrant, where students are known and valued, where education is not just preparation for the future but a meaningful experience in the present.
This extends beyond the curriculum. It influences policies, from how we handle attendance and absences to how we approach major events like the Spring Carnival. It shapes how we engage with families, ensuring that they see themselves as partners in their child’s education. It informs how we respond to challenges, whether they be global crises or personal struggles within our school community.
Conclusion: The Lifelong Journey of Learning
Education does not end with graduation. It is a lifelong process, one that continues through every conversation, every book, every new experience. My own journey as an educator is shaped by this understanding. Every day, I learn from my students, from my colleagues, from the challenges and successes of leading a school.
The world is changing. The ways we teach, the ways we assess learning, the very structure of education itself must evolve to meet these changes. But the core purpose remains the same: to inspire curiosity, to cultivate wisdom, and to empower individuals to make a meaningful impact on the world.
This is my philosophy of education. It is a philosophy rooted in discovery, in creativity, in ethical responsibility. And above all, it is a philosophy that sees learning not as a destination, but as a lifelong journey—one that I am privileged to walk alongside my students and my community.
You might think I am about to set out on a little self-reflection to peer into the very depths of my soul to uncover the essence of who I am. No. I won’t take you down that road. Quite the opposite. In recent months, however, I have discovered something that is, at least for me, quite significant.
I have always been fascinated by ancient navigators’ abilities to use what is effectively a ruler with a protractor stuck to it to its edge to determine their position on the earth using stars as distant anchor points. While I get the the concept, it has largely been through faith rather than scientific understanding. I have not, even to this day, understood clearly how that simple act results in the navigational accuracy required to find their way home from the midst of distant oceans without any other form or feature in sight. For me, the skill has always held a modicum of magic to complete the formula and to satisfy fleeting curiosity that wanes before I can reach any point of truly wanting to “get it.”
Then, one night, not so long ago, while admiring a spectacular full moon, perhaps the Blood Wolf Super Moon (or some such modern popular version of the same), it suddenly occurred to me: The Moon! Now, while I still can’t understand the entire mechanics and use of the sextant, I have discovered the ability to determine my approximate position on the planet with one simple act: looking at the Moon.
In that one moment of understanding I suddenly understood not only where I was, but also the position of the sun, the directional spin of the earth, the direction of pending sunrise, and the directions of the poles. Though at present, without a visible Moon, I would likely remain lost. With it visible, not only do I find myself able to determine my position, but the very nature of a spherical earth in orbit around a sun becomes, not only clear, but obviously so. Cheers Galileo! Yes. Simply look at the moon. Yes. It seems it may really be that simple.
If this is obvious to you, forgive me. To me it was, and is, a revelation, and a significant one. While perhaps it is obvious to everyone, and while perhaps it may not have expanded my actual horizons, it has clearly highlighted them and brought them into more clarity for me. The best part of it, and with apologies to those whose who simply cannot see, I must repeat: the only thing it requires is to look at the Moon.
Here’s how it works.
On any night under skies that permit you to see the Moon, simply look at it to determine the portion that is visible (acknowledgement of which had previously been the extent of my considerations). Then make one further (albeit ridiculously obvious) consideration: what makes it visible? Light, of course. But, from where? The Sun, of course! That portion that is visible is due to sunlight. The invisible portion completes the sphere, but remains hidden in the darkness on the side opposite to the sun. Until that particular night, I had acknowledged the Moon in two dimensions only, from a thin croissant lo the full lunar disk, and back again. Not because I could not perceive it as otherwise. Perhaps simply because I had never given it further thought. What I had never done was to consider WHY I could see it, and WHAT that implied. Enter the Sun (or at least it’s light). The key for me was exactly that. If the visible part of the Moon was due to sunlight, then the sun must be shining upon it. And while apparently it shone from some point not visible to me, it did so from a direction that lit the Moon in that particular way at that particular time. And so, I began to consider a flashlight shining on an orange, and from which direction that light had to be shone in order to replicate the lit part of the Moon as I saw it on any given night.
What happened then was, again for me, a revelation: suddenly, two dimensional considerations became three dimensional. The moon no longer appeared to be a bright flat shape in the sky. Instead, I began to see it as a sphere, lit from the direction that would allow it to be lit as it was, and its position was relative to that of the vantage point I occupied at that moment. Triangulation?
Just like that, I was seeing it all in three dimensions. And since then, I have never been able to see otherwise.
That being a few months ago, fast forward to this morning. For some slightly odd reason I decided to begin my day, in the dark, at 5am. When I stepped outside briefly to check on the kind of day that was approaching, I looked up. There it was. The Moon. It was a perfect bright (and beautiful) crescent, curved to the left. I immediately thought (since I appear now to not be able to escape this tendency), “Where’s the light coming from?” And with that snap, the Moon became an orange with a flashlight pointing at it from somewhere outside of my field of view. That somewhere else had to be far behind and to the left of it, and on the other side of the Earth itself, in order to create the crescent shape I witnessed. In reality, what appeared to be a crescent was simply the visible edge of a full Moon should I have been able to see it from the same position as the obstructed source of the light shining upon it. And so, again, the entire spectacle became three dimensional to accommodate all of that.
And once again, there I was, standing in a system of the Moon, Sun, and my own vantage on Earth.
And then it occurred to me, if I can see that much, what other conclusions might I be able to draw from it.
The first questions that followed involved sunlight itself. If it was creating that particular shape on the Moon, then wouldn’t the same be true of its impact on the Earth? And if the Sun indeed rises in the East, then which direction would the Earth be spinning in relation to me? And if the Earth were spinning in that direction, that spin would be along the North-South axis… so the realizations followed quickly: North would be… THAT way (quickly confirmed by my trusty iPhone compass). And if so, then the tilt of the crescent would be equal to the tilt of the earth, putting the Sun, roughly, about… over THERE! And if that were the case, and if I were standing on the earth, in the dark, at that particular angle, that would place me about, HERE! in relation to the equator and the poles. Expanding and extrapolating in kind, I was able to determine my relative position to the whole system.
And again, there I was, standing in a system, in motion, that included the Moon, the Sun, and my own vantage on Earth.
One simple realization months ago has changed the way I see all of this, and as a consequence it has made me feel part of something much vaster than what my own limited field of view could previously ever accommodate. And who knows, someday, it might actually help me find my way home.
The one thing I know for certain: The experience taught me that rocks, like ideas, fit together when they’re supposed to. Not before, and not later.
I know this. I recall the endless pickup-truck-loads of stones and small boulders that I collected and placed into neat piles in front of the trenches from which his walls grew.
From there, one by one, the rocks, small, large, fractured, twisted, flat, round, bulbous, angular, metamorphic, granite, white, red, green, and black, all eventually grew into something so randomly symmetrical, defined, purposeful, and everlasting.
With each placement, each rock was assessed by its value and contribution to each space that came available. And often (always?) that meant that in the entire field of rock piles I assembled, there was most often only one that could and would accomplish the solution being sought. And then again, sometimes not, requiring another trip in the progressively pockmarked little red Ford pickup.
And yet, when each wall was complete, and the stone piles were exhausted to pebbles; each one of them, and finally each pebble too, found its place, in the exact spot and with the exact purpose that only it could fulfill.
Like ideas. Like plans. Like goals and accomplishments. Nothing is without purpose, meaning, and value. Nothing does not have its place. What did rocks teach me? Simple. Truth and meaning are realized when seemingly disparate things find the purposes inherent to each of them as parts of a greater and successful whole.
And I guess that’s Choco! So a little introduction is in order.
Choco was a cross Golden Retriever and Weimaraner, playfully, or officially, or perhaps both, known as a Goldmaraner. He will forever remain amongst the best friends I have been fortunate to have in my life. I’m not sure if I deserved the unconditional love and dedication he demonstrated for pretty much every moment of his life. Nevertheless, I received it. That energy will inspire me forever. And so, Choco is my muse.
He was born on the 30th of November, 2007 and passed away of natural causes on September 21st, 2022.
What was he like? Well, the smile should say it all.
