Amna Maqsood| Teacher, Middle/ Senior School
If you ever walk past my classroom on different days, you might think two completely different teachers work there.
In one class, there is silence. Pens glide across paper. Someone is whispering, “Miss, is this imagery or symbolism?” A thoughtful debate begins about the writer’s effect.
In the other class, someone is half-standing, someone is arguing about fractions, and someone loudly declares, “Miss, this answer is impossible!”
Welcome to my life, I teach Cambridge English and Middle School Math.
And trust me, it feels like living a double life.
English class is my peaceful forest. We analyze. We interpret. We discuss the deeper meaning of a single word for five whole minutes.
In my Cambridge English classes, students sit with seriousness. They underline phrases like detectives solving a literary crime. When we discuss a writer’s effect, someone always says, “Miss, I think the word ‘shattered’ creates a sense of emotional destruction.” And I nod proudly like a literature guru.
There is something beautiful about the calm energy. The room feels thoughtful. Even their confusion is polite. “Miss… I don’t quite understand the tone.” Compare that to math confusion. Very different species.
Math class enters like a thunderstorm. Middle school math is not quiet. It is a movement. It is a debate. It is a dramatic reaction to fractions.
“Miss, why are there letters in math?!” “Miss, why is x still unsolved?” “Miss, can’t we just use a calculator?”
In English, students fear misinterpreting a poem. In Math, they fear long division like it’s a villain in a movie.
And the energy? It is unmatched. Hands shoot up. Students stand without realizing it. Someone is explaining loudly to their friend why their answer must be correct. Math class is alive.
In English, students think deeply. In Math, students feel deeply.
English stress sounds like: “Miss, what if my analysis isn’t strong enough?”
Math stress sounds like: “MISS THIS ANSWER IS WRONG BUT I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT!”
One class whispers. The other negotiates with numbers like they are bargaining in a market. The funniest part? I switch between the two on the same day. One period I’m saying: “Let’s explore how the writer creates tension.” Next period: “WHY are we multiplying before adding? What does BODMAS say?”
In English, I’m discussing tone and mood. In Math, I’m defending algebra from personal attacks. But, despite the contrast, I wouldn’t change it. English feeds the imagination. Math fuels logic.
English builds thinkers. Math builds problem-solvers.
English is calm, reflective, structured discussion. Math is energetic, loud, competitive brilliance.
And I get to experience both worlds every day. One teaches students to understand words. The other teaches them to understand patterns. Both teach them to understand themselves.
Here’s what no one tells you about teaching both:
The “calm” English students can turn dramatic over one low mark. The “chaotic” math students can suddenly become silent when a concept finally clicks.
Every class has its own personality and somehow, I get the privilege of being part of all of them.
So yes, I live a double life.
By morning, I am a literary critic. By afternoon, I am a fraction therapist.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.